A Maxerella Story
by AmiRide
Summary: Max is by no means a princess, but her life is just one big Cinderella story. Hopefully, she'll escape soon—if Columbia University accepts her, that is. With so many problems in her life—her job, the popular girl who hates her, and the possibility of meeting her anonymous secret love at Homecoming—it's possible she won't get out sane. But all fairy tales have a happy ending, right?
1. Chapter 1

**HI!**

**I wrote a MR Cinderella story because I was sick on Wednesday, and my cousin gave me her old iPod, and on the YouTube search button there was "A Cinderella Story part 1."**

**I was supposed to be taking a nap, but it was like **_**fate**_**.**

**So I spent the rest of my five-hour "nap" watching any Hilary Duff movies I could find online.**

**And then I cruised FF. net for MR Cinderella stories.**

**I just **_**had**_** to write this.**

**So, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I really, **_**really**_** can't think of a witty disclaimer. So I don't own MR. Or a Cinderella story. So deal. And I'm never saying this again. At least for this story.**

**:)**

* * *

**MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX**

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, lived a beautiful young girl. She had long, flowing blond hair and cornflower-blue eyes and a dazzling smile. She was betrothed to the wonderful prince of the kingdom and her mother was the lady of the land—

Okay, okay. Maybe it's not really like that. Back up. It goes a little more like this:

Once upon a twenty-first century, there was this average-looking girl with a boy's name. She was young, all right—young and reckless and stupid and seventeen. Her hair was blond, too—but it was so light it was almost the color of white sand, and she had lovingly nicknamed it "the Albino Retard". Her eyes had once been compared to un-barfed chocolate by the school's queen bee. She had this wacko best friend named Jeffrey Chase and a job at the local bakery. Oh, and her mom was dead.

And—surprise, surprise!—this average-looking girl was me. Me being Max. And my mom wasn't lady of the land, disappointingly. She'd died when I was eight years old, bringing my world crashing around me as she went. She'd always encouraged me to follow my dreams, and every night she would read me a story out of the book of fairy tales that came to shape my life. For a while, I actually believed in happy endings. But then, just as things had started to look up for us, Mom just _had _to go and die in a sandstorm, which obviously brought the cruel hammer of reality crashing down on my little head.

I used to dream of being a princess. And as my lack of proper grammar might indicate, I ain't—well, I can't think of the past tense of ain't—no princess. I wasn't dainty or beautiful or delicate or kind or generous. I couldn't think of one princessly thing about—wait.

Actually, I was kind of like one princess.

Cinderella.

Minus the dainty/beautiful/delicate/kind/generous part.

Because of course, I just _had _to have an evil stepparent and evil stepsiblings.

I couldn't exactly say that Jeb Batchelder was an evil stepmother. He was evil, alright, but it would be an insult to the female gender to call him anything other than what he was. And his spawn, Ari and Dylan—they weren't girls, although I'd question Dylan's sexuality more than once in the past, and although the only move they'd ever be able to make on a girl would be to _move_ away from her, they weren't ugly—which ruled out the ugly stepsisters part. They were plenty evil, though. They might not be the brightest crayons in the box, but they had _evil_ down pat.

Of course, the universe should decide to punish me further. For what, I had no idea. But you know, don't you think karma could've cut me some slack? Like, _aw man, Max's mom is dead. Why don't I give her a cool single dad that she can be football buddies with._ No such luck. More like, _aw man, Max's mom is dead. Let's go ruin her life some more! YEAH! Throw a Jeb and some yucky stepbrothers in the mix too! PAR-TAY!_

My life kinda sucked.

I am so good at gross understatements.

"MAX!" yelled Ari from downstairs.

"WHAT, BUTTHOLE?" I yelled back.

"I NEED A RIDE FOR SCHOOL!"

"WELL THEN, GO GET ONE!"

Like I said, I was no Cinderella. And I think the Demonic Family understood that, too. Not that they would ever stop trying.

"MAXINE!" thundered Jeb. I groaned and tumbled down the stairs, half-asleep.

"Yeah, what?" I glared at him, the effect somewhat marred by the fact that I kept yawning sleepily and rubbing my eyes as I stumbled into my chair.

"Give your brothers a ride to school," Jeb ordered.

"Whatever, Jebbers," I said carelessly, knowing that this annoyed him to no end.

Sure enough, his face looked like he'd been doused in beet juice. He looked close to slapping me, and then contained himself. I could imagine his mental exercises.

_Don't kill Max today. She might be useful in the future._

The vein in his forehead throbbed.

_Don't kill Max today. Dylan and Ari need a ride to school._

His fists balled up.

_Don't kill Max today. No one else would ever work at your lousy cafe for the price you pay her._

He exhaled. "Your shift at the bakery is from four to nine today," he said, deciding that this was appropriate punishment for me today. I groaned again, yawned, and dragged myself up to snag the car keys.

"Remind me again why Ari and Dylweed can't just drive _themselves_ to school?" I said crankily, starting the engine to my white Mercedes.

"Because Valencia specifically stated in a legal document that her car should go to you," he answered stiffly, wincing slightly as if the thought gave him a headache.

_Don't kill Max today. She might marry Dylan one day and then you'll have a free servant._

There were so many things wrong with that sentence that I had to suppress a giggle.

I wondered, not for the first time, why he hadn't just pretended to not find that document, just like he "never found" my mom's will. Well, thinking back, it was very probable she'd never written a will. She had only been thirty-two when she'd died.

Personally, I thought it was just because Jeb didn't want to spend money on some car that Dylan and Ari were just going to eventually wreck.

"You're going to school dressed like _that_?" demanded fashion-conscious Dylan, who constantly tried to give me fashion advice. I mean, come on. Fashion advice from a clearly fashion-challenged _guy_? He was wearing _golf shorts. _To_ school._

I would never put my fashion fate into the hands of a guy who straightened their hair regularly for school.

"Um, yeah," I said, not really getting what the problem with my outfit was. I really didn't look that bad. I actually kind of looked _nice_, for a change. There was nothing wrong wearing a white V-neck and new jean shorts (not because I could afford them, but because Jeff felt so bad for my old dilapidated pair that he'd gone and bought me a new one). But clearly Dylan wouldn't be satisfied until he saw me in a tutu or something like that.

"Hmm, Max," Dylan _tsked_. "I would change into a skirt if I were you."

"But you're not me, so get into the backseat and shut up," I grumbled, slamming the door.

"I call shotgun!" I heard Ari declare, sticking his clumsy hand up in the air.

* * *

"I call shotgun!" yelled Gazzy as he raced towards Sam's car.

"No, Nick's shotgun today," corrected Sam as he stopped in front of my house. "Hey, dude," he greeted me, going for a fistbump.

"Hey," I said, getting into the front seat.

"Hey," echoed Gazzy from the backseat, sounding pouty. "I'm shotgun on Monday."

"No, I'm shotgun, because Nick is driving," Sam shot back. He looked at me for an answer. Apparently I was driving on Monday.

"Yeah," I agreed as we sped along.

A blond girl was waiting for us outside a huge house, talking to two other girls, both redheads.

"Hi Nick." The blond girl batted her lashes, each one catching the light and sending off a thousand sparks.

"Hey Angel," I replied, accepting her warm kiss on my cheek. Now, before you go, _aww, that's so cute! He called her angel! It's true love! _or whatever you kids do today, notice the capital 'A' on Angel? Yeah. I didn't call her Angel because it was a cute pet name and I was a romantic sap (which, thinking back, I kind of was), I called her that because it was her _name_.

I winced at my thoughts, recognizing that they sounded a little harsh. And I did like Angel, I really did. Maybe I didn't _love_ her, but I really did like her. But being the boyfriend of the most popular girl in school had its downsides. Like the bullying part.

What really got me was that Angel was only mean to _some_ girls. Not even all of the girls at the bottom of what Angel once tried to explain to me as a "popularity chart." Not even all the loners. Not even some girls who _really _deserved to be lashed out at. No, she only pseudo-bullied what seemed to be a random assortment of girls, ranging from the once-popular Maya Anderson, who had shiny blond hair and big brown eyes, to Star Swift, who was like a tiny ball of mousy, "un-cool" energy. And this assortment of girls seemed to change on a regular basis. It was sometimes Julie Sanders, the only girl at our school with eyes of two different colors, who I then caught Angel waving to cheerily the next week. It was sometimes Clarity von Schaefer, who was then invited to Angel's annual pool party. Every month it was a different group, and then it would change again. And she never looked like she got pleasure out of it.

Angel puzzled me in so many ways.

"Hi, guys." Redhead Number 1, also known as Brigid Dwyer, stepped into the back of the car. Redhead Number 2, Lissa, perched herself on Gazzy's lap, and squealed when Sam revved the engine, ignoring Gazzy's attempts to shove her off.

When we arrived in the school parking lot, cars veered off to either side to make space for us. We got out of the car, only to lean against it again, waiting for the school doors to open.

"Hey there, Battling Birds!" I heard Kate Strong's voice chirp over the speakers of the school PTA system. I automatically looked towards the fifth floor of Stream Valley High School, where I knew she was on a glass balcony overlooking the school grounds, speaking into a little microphone and playing with her black, pink-streaked hair.

"Are you guys ready for another Friday at SV High?" Kate continued cheerfully.

A few guys in the parking lot next to us cheered.

"Don't litter, respect teachers, and _no_ graffiti," Kate rattled off. I could almost make her out reading the announcements from a list given to her by Ms. Cox. "And remember, today is your last chance to purchase tickets for the Homecoming Halloween Dance! The two best-dressed people, the cutest couple, or the best costume pairs will be awarded the prize of Homecoming Prince and Princess!"

Now there were a lot more loud whoops.

Right. The Homecoming Dance. I got the feeling Angel had been reminding me about it many times, and I distinctly remembered having bought our tickets, but I _still _didn't have a costume. And anyone without a good costume on the day before Halloween was utterly screwed.

Oops.

"And hydrate yourselves, SV High! Remember, don't waste water, because you won't be getting a lot of it in this drought. So that means"—there was a pause as Kate shuffled her papers—"Ratchet McDavid and Holden Starfish, _no more water fights_!"

Two guys across the street smacked high-fives, laughing.

"And remember, _relax! _Don't let all this school stuff get to you! It's bogus, any—" Kate was interrupted mid-sentence as Ms. Cox grabbed the microphone.

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the—" came Ms. Cox's voice.

"—United States of America," Kate grumbled.

The two of them continued the Pledge of Allegiance. It was a common occurrence that Kate got carried away during announcements, and almost every day, Ms. Cox was the one reminding her of her to say the Pledge. Usually, it was also at this point that everyone turned away from the speakers and ignored the rest of the announcements.

"The dance is tomorrow!" Lissa squealed.

"I know!" Brigid clutched Lissa's arm. "I'm almost finished designing our costumes."

Angel grinned. The three of them continued discussing the pros and cons of glitter until Lissa bumped into a girl.

_Ella_, I remembered, watching her scramble around frantically.

"Sorry," Ella squeaked, gathering her fallen books and papers, her brown hair spilling out of the tight bun she had tried to fashion it into. I stared at it for a few seconds, mesmerized at how it caught the light.

"Yeah, you are," sneered Lissa, glaring, clearly ticked off at being interrupted mid-rant. She tossed her red hair and leaned in to bitch about Ella to us, but was again interrupted by Angel bumping into another girl. Only I saw Angel subtly stick her hand out, catching another girl's shirt and making it look like Angel had been pushed instead.

This one was much taller than Ella, and it was for that reason that I noticed her. Her blond curls were glossy enough to rival Angel's, though they weren't brushed and were stuffed hastily under a cap.

"Ow," whined Angel, inspecting her nails for any signs of microscopic damage.

"Whoops," said the girl. Maxine was her name; I remembered now.

_Maxine. _For some reason, this girl, for just a fleeting second, reminded me of Maximum Ride, the girl I'd met online.

I know, I know. There was a reason that adults were constantly droning on and on about the dangers of the Internet. But I was thoroughly convinced that Maximum was genuine.

I had no idea why, but I thought of Maximum as I saw Maxine's light hair fly over her shoulder. The only significant thing I really knew about her was that this was the one girl on Angel's monthly hit list that always stayed the same. This was the only girl that Angel actually received pleasure out of pushing around. I didn't know why, but there were a lot of things that Angel and her friends did that confused me.

"Don't you have something to say?" snarled Lissa.

Maxine, unlike Ella, didn't seem intimidated and blinked up innocently at Lissa. "Hmm? What?"

"Something that starts with an 's' and ends with an 'orry?'" chimed in Brigid, her eyes narrowing.

"You mean, sorry? But _Lissy__, B,__"—t_his was a serious blow to Angel, I realized as I watch her turn red, because that was what she called her friends_—"_I didn't do anything wrong, so I have nothing to be sorry for," replied Maxine, picking at her nails nonchalantly. Her confidence was so unexpected that I was caught completely off guard and just stared at her. Gazzy's cough was an unmistakable snort of laughter, and even Lissa couldn't mistake it for an encouraging one. This seemed to incense Angel, and she narrowed her blue eyes icily at Maxine.

"How about rudely _shoving _me?" Angel suggested.

"If I recall, you're the one that shoved _me_," Maxine responded. "So how 'bout _you _say sorry." Her voice faltered at the end, making Angel's lips curve upward spitefully.

"How about no," Angel said.

She glared at her, and Maxine retaliated with her own murderous glare. Then she blinked once or twice as if trying to get rid of some sort of residue in her eyes, and straightened.

"Fine, then." Maxine shrugged indifferently and started to walk away.

"Fine." Angel turned up her nose, then treated us to an evil smile. She turned around and launched herself ungracefully at Max's back.

"Oh!" breathed Angel, as Lissa's hand flew out and whacked Angel's, making her coffee "slip" and land all over Maxine's white shirt. Maxine stared down at her shirt, gaped at Angel, glanced at the coffee on the ground, and looked like she was going to kill her. Cold blooded-ly. With a pickax. This wasn't going well. I knew it, Gazzy and Sam knew it, the redheads knew it, and Angel's look of sudden fear was enough to say that she knew it too.

Then Maxine calmed herself down and picked the almost-empty coffee cup up off the concrete.

I expected Maxine, from the crumpled look on her face, to burst in to tears.

And her voice when she muttered, "What?" was definitely riddled with suppressed tears.

But, hesitating a little, did exactly the opposite and _dumped the rest of the coffee on Angel's head_.

Then she slugged Lissa's shoulder for good measure, glared at the rest of us, and stalked off, shaking her long curls back and firmly replacing her cap on them. As she walked away, I caught a glimpse of the words on her cap: _Columbia_. The very place I wanted to go. Well, if I one day got over the slightly annoying _Dad-won't-let-me_ barrier.

A lanky guy with wild strawberry blond hair chased after Maxine, yelling her name. This snapped me back to reality and to Angel's coffee-soaked curls.

A few seconds passed before the screaming started.

I soothingly rubbed her back, trying to get her to calm down. The huge part of my consciousness told me to stick up for the girls that Angel made fun of. But the tiny, insignificant part reminded me that if all girls reacted the way Maxine had just did, I wouldn't need to.

* * *

"That _bitch_," I seethed. Jeff looked at me apologetically.

"She's not that bad," he said. I rolled my eyes, knowing that this was because of the puppy crush he'd had on her since the third grade and not because Angel was capable of being human.

Angel. What a fitting name. More like _Devil_.

I was regretting my decision immensely now that my head was cleared. It was the choice between fighting back, getting the pleasure of seeing Angel with brown-stained hair for eight hours and Lissa wincing clutching her Prada-toting shoulder, and then risking the possibility of getting detention for doing it and possibly suspension, and walking away calmly, with possibly a little sarcastic comment or two, and not ruining my chances of getting into Columbia.

And I, being the little, foolish, rebellious Cinder-Max that I am, had decided to go with the eight hours of pleasure and never getting into college.

Yay.

My phone buzzed. It was an old crappy model that I'd bought at the local CVS for twenty bucks. Like _Jeb_ would ever get me a phone.

But hey, at least I had one!

_Fang27: Hey. What are u up to? I missed you._

I smiled and my stomach became alive with butterflies. I could always count on Fang to cheer me up, whether he was trying or not. In fact, I had been messaging him when I had been rudely shoved by Her Royal Bitchiness herself, Queen Angel. My stomach churned and I pushed the image of the principal's office out of my mind.

_MaximumRide: :) Had a long morning. What's new with you?_

I'd always been told that putting your real name on the Internet wasn't safe, but who would ever guess that someone's name was actually Maximum Ride? That name wasn't the kind that ran in families.

_Fang27: The funniest thing just happened. A girl just almost decked this other girl and... well, it doesn't sound funny, but it was funny._

Hmm, so there _were_ other tough girls at this school.

_MaximumRide: Lol. I just stopped myself from decking someone too, although I might have caused them some minor discomfort... do you think __Columbia__ accepts juvenile delinquents? :P_

_Fang27: No way. Who? What happened? And they'd probably accept you anyways. ;)_

_MaximumRide: Can't tell you. Then you'd know who I am._

Yep, that was the one little detail: Fang didn't know who I was.

No biggie or anything.

_Fang27: You do go to Stream Valley High though, right?_

As far as I knew, or as Fang had told me, we both went to Stream Valley High School, but we didn't know each other. Was it bad to have a kind-of crush (read: full-blown crazy love) on someone you didn't know? Because behind the screen, I was falling hard for Fang.

_MaximumRide: Yup. G2G._

I quickly shut my phone, as if that would stop Fang from replying. I didn't want another conversation about meeting up.

But of course, it buzzed anyways.

_Fang27: Wait, when do we get to meet?_

I sighed and flipped it open again.

_MaximumRide: How about never?_

_Fang27: …_

I didn't want to. This whole entire friendship was too good to be true. I didn't want to ruin it if I wasn't what he expected.

I ruled out chucking my phone across the parking lot and instead decided to sent a slightly dishonest message to him. Well, it wasn't exactly dishonest, but Fang couldn't know that there was no way I could ever meet him.

_MaximumRide: Okay, fine. Soon._

* * *

**So…What didja think? 's'it good?**

**REVIEW! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !**

**Love youuuu!**

**BIIIIIEEEEEE!**

**~Ami****


	2. Chapter 2

**HII! HOW ARE YOU GUYS? :3**

**I'm happy today.**

**You guys must think I'm high. :D I'm not. But I was pretty angry earlier today. Furious, actually.**

**There's NO MORE ICE CREAM IN THE FRIGGIN FRIDGE! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! GOSH DARN IT! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !**

**Forgive my potty mouth.**

**Anyways, to get off that subject, I watched a Cinderella story again. ****For, like, the fiftieth time.**

**Answers to reviews:**

**Shadows Under the Moon: Aww, thank you! That is probably one of the most supportive reviews I've ever gotten, you rock! I'll need all the luck I can get, it takes me _forever_ to write these. :) Wanna PM? You know you wanna. ;)**

**CakeIsAGoodFriend: That's so cool! I knew _some_ people in the world must recognize the pure genius that is "A Cinderella Story"! I read your, story, it's really, really good. (Everyone who's reading this, go read it too.)**

**singing. wizab: Thanks! You know, I love you because you have reviewed on, I think, EVERY SINGLE ONE OF MY STORIES! You rock. This update's for you. ;)**

**Elemental Dragon Slayer: Yeah, I thought it was pretty weird too, but there was no one else who fit the description of ****Shelby****. And yes, I shall BRING ON THE FAX!**

**Starla Daughter of Demeter: Yeah, I laughed too when she dumped the coffee on Angel's head. Even though it's my fic. Does that make me weird? Probably.**

**Skatzaa: hehe. Yep, I'm updating. And by the way, thanks for being the only one to review my other fic, "Sisters No More." You rock. :)**

**Kay, kay, I'm done with the A/N. Don't hate me! Please!**

**ON WE SHALL GO!**

* * *

**FANG**

_MaximumRide__: Okay, fine. Soon._

I sighed. Was it bad to be falling for someone who you can't see? Because I was falling for Maximum. She, and she assured me she was a girl, was funny, sarcastic, and clever. We'd met around a month before, in a chat room full of Columbia fanatics. Since we'd been the only non-crazy ones there, we'd started messaging each other and eventually we became best friends. More than best friends. We both went to Stream Valley High School and lived in the same town. Great, right? No, not so great. The only tiny, insignificant was that we each had no idea who the other was. I shut off my phone only to have it buzz again. I turned it on.

_Dad: Watching a NYU football game, and they're losing. It's because you're not on the team yet._

I sighed again. But this wasn't a romantic, sappy, lovesick sigh. You didn't typically sigh like that when your Dad texted you about something that annoys you.

My dad had this crazy dream that I was going to go to NYU for football, and in his fantasy land, after doing a whole four years of football training, I somehow still was going to want to come back to Stream Valley and run his real estate business. I mean, get real.

"Dude," said Sam, giving me a friendly punch on the shoulder, "Who's this dude you're messaging all the time?"

"My mom," I said, deadpan.

"Right," snorted Gazzy. "Is it a chick? Dude, are you cheating on Angel? That's not cool, dude."

"I'm not cheating on Angel," I said. "It's not a chick. It's just some guy from football camp last year."

"Oh, Chris? The blond dude? Dude, he's awesome. We should hang out with him sometime, dude."

Sometimes I wondered how Sam and Gazzy could fit the word "dude" so many times in one sentence.

I nodded vaguely and turned my attention back to my phone.

_Fang27: Okay. But before winter break._

I glanced around the parking lot to see who Maximum might be. Ella Martinez, the shy girl who Lissa bumped into earlier, was texting on her BlackBerry. I vaguely remembered her mane of chestnut hair in a few of my AP classes, which meant that Ella was smart. It wasn't news to anyone that she was pretty, too, with tan skin that must have come from a Hispanic mother or father, and brown eyes. She was nice; I remembered her helping a little kid who had gotten a splinter in his knee. I always tried to think of every girl at every angle when I tried to make out who Maximum was (and I did it a whole lot), but Ella fell short in the boldness department. She may have had a soft buttery voice and her hair might have smelled like vanilla, but Ella was much, much too timid to be Maximum. If she were Maximum, she would have stood up to Lissa.

I moved on to Tessa Fray. Tessa, or Tess, as she liked to be called, was in my Calculus class. You'd have to be pretty smart to be in Calculus, and anyone could tell that Tess was. What always made me laugh is the fact that she constantly tried to hide it. She was always shoving her schedule into her backpack, as far out of sight as possible, whenever Angel started talking about school, trying to hide the fact that she was in almost every AP class that Stream Valley High offered. But it didn't escape me when she snorted at a joke that none of her other friends got or waved her hand around emphatically when she knew the answer to a question asked in class. She was pretty, with her long, straight brown hair, blue eyes, and pouty lips made for lipstick ads, but it was hard to tell under all that makeup. I'd long classified her as one of those Angel-wannabes, the kind of girl who hung on to the popular clique by her fingernails. I didn't pretend to be good at reading people, but I could sort of tell that underneath all the giltz and glam, Tess was an ordinary girl. A little too ordinary, maybe. I didn't find the color of Star Swift's nail polish, one of her favorite gossip topics, very interesting, although Tess might, seeing as she'd ragged about it for two whole periods. Next.

I felt a little shaken that I kept landing on beautiful, smart girls, and when my gaze next landed on Lissa, who was chatting away to Tess while showing her something on her rhinestone-studded Nokia cell, I almost laughed. She was beautiful, all right. Her bright red hair and big blue eyes had made her the receiver of one too many catcalls on Stream Valley's streets. Her situation wasn't being helped by the fact that she liked to wear clothes that left too little to the imagination. But smart? Lissa Harper had been held back about three times, though you wouldn't be able to tell by her elfin physique and fluttery, excited flutelike voice. I still maintained that any girl who chose to wear only a tight, slightly long shirt to school—no pants or anything—couldn't have that many brain cells.

Next to Lissa, leaning interestedly over her shoulder to admire whatever Lissa was showing her, Tess, and Angel while still sneaking glances at her buzzing Motorola, was Brigid. Brigid Dwyer's sleek, long auburn hair was twisted into an elegant knot at the top of her head, and her black skirt brushed her fingertips. Gazzy and I liked to talk about Lissa and Brigid as if they were one person, but Brigid was more like Lissa's alter ego. Intelligent, quick and much more demure than her best friend, Brigid acted like a total ditz, but even she couldn't hide her 4.0 GPA. Angel adored to tease her about it, despite the fact that she herself had a 3.8. It's interesting to think that I would have liked Brigid if she hadn't had a nasty habit of preying on the freshmen guys, who all looked at her like a sex goddess, and the eighth-graders from Stream Valley Middle, who all looked kind of awed and intimidated when she whispered undoubtedly inappropriate things in their big, awkward ears.

Across from Brigid was Dylan Batchelder, typing away on a sleek iPhone. Maximum was a girl, but Dylan's behavior made his sexual orientation so unclear that I wouldn't have been surprised if he were Maximum. I prayed every single night that he wasn't, though. While his sleek honey hair and blue eyes might have been a huge hit with the junior girls, the entire senior class thought of Dylan as a hopeless case.

I glanced across the parking lot, where I saw several other girls. Clarity von Schaefer, a thin-as-a-rail girl with short brown hair and a wide smile, was talking to her friend Tracy Marvel, an upbeat, cheerful girl who had skipped a grade, was taller than everyone in the senior class, and had a surprisingly refreshing beauty to her face. She was the kind of person that made you happy just by being in the same room as you. The third of the trio, Paulina Caravel, had cold, calculating green eyes and a slightly lumpy physique. Her hands were wide as boards, and she had a button nose and an unexpectedly dainty mouth that spewed hateful remarks all day.

_Not Maximum._

On the other side of the parking lot, I noticed another girl, Dylan's sister, I think. I took a second look and saw that it was Maxine, the girl who dumped coffee on Angel's head this morning, texting on an old, beat up phone that probably didn't have the connection to the Internet that Maximum needed to message me. She, too, was in my Calculus class, which would make her smart. I couldn't think of her in any of my other classes, though. Come to think of it, I don't think I'd ever noticed Maxine before this year. Maybe she was a new kid. She'd always seemed kind of invisible to me, and the only thing I knew about her was that Angel hated her from some reason.

Maxine was pretty tall, shorter than Tess but taller than Brigid, leaning against a sleek white car. I couldn't really tell what she looked like, seeing as she always hid beneath her blue, beaten Columbia cap. She couldn't hide her hair, though, which was the object of many covetous stares. Glossy, curly and shiny, it was always in a long, white-blond ponytail that straggled down her back as if it was never brushed, which, now that I think of it, it probably never was.

I struggled to remember the color of her eyes, but now that I thought of it, I couldn't remember when she'd ever actually looked me in the eye. She was antisocial to the point where it was almost annoying. Whenever you tried to talk to her, the look on her face was enough to discourage you. _Is he talking to me? Not to me, right? Maybe he's talking to someone behind me. Nope, there's no one behind me, so he has to be talking to me. What is he saying? I don't like talking to people. Maybe I should leave. _She was shy, so shy that it had been only the fact that Angel had bullied her to her breaking point that had made her snap and pour the coffee on her head.

As far as I could tell, her only friend was Jeff Chase. Angel had labeled him as a drama dork, but he seemed like an okay guy, despite the fact that he recited Shakespeare way too much to be a normal person. But he'd got to be pretty funny to make Maxine Batchelder, the girl who I had never seen smile, laugh, and pretty nice to stick with her even though she tried her best not to make friends. And thinking of it, there must be something nice about Maxine to make someone like Jeffrey Chase, who was the sort of person I would want to be friends with, stick around. Anyways, the fact alone that she had only one friend was enough to alert me that there was no way, shape, or form that Maxine, who had one friend, could ever be Maximum, who probably was the best friend of everyone in the senior class. And would someone as painfully shy as Maxine could never be the fiery girl I had gotten to know.

Next. J.J. Banks…

* * *

**MAXIMUM RIDE**

_Fang27: Okay. But before winter break._

Oh, no. Oh, no. I was hoping not to meet Fang before high school was over, so I could bust out of here and never see him again. Or, hopefully, meet him in college at Columbia, where I would be a completely different person. Where I could finally be _me_, as corny as that sounds. Columbia was to be my escape.

I scanned the parking lot for possible Fangs. Dylan was typing on his iPhone, giggling. Dylan was the only guy I knew who giggled. If he were Fang, I would probably kill myself. Or better, kill him.

Sam Walker and Gazzy Richman were the next two people I saw. They were both popular football jocks with huge egos and inflated heads. Sam was cute, with sandy blond hair and hazel eyes. He was popular with the guys, and even more so with the girls; his winks made Saraline Borders (and every other girl in the grade) feel faint, as I'd heard her say to J.J. But he was a complete idiot, possibly the stupidest person I'd ever met, so I crossed him off my mental list.

Gazzy, the blond-haired, blue-eyes, mischievous linebacker, was after him, but he'd decided he wasn't not going to college, so it wouldn't have made sense for him to be in a Columbia chat room. No one knew what Gazzy's real name is; I wasn't quite sure that even he knew it anymore. The other football guys called him the Gasman—

Jeff, who was waiting for me by the pillar, was definitely not Fang. His dramatic personality clashed immensely with Fang's collected one. And besides, Jeff knew about Fang. He'd probably already have revealed himself. He was a drama queen—_king_. Anyways, Jeff was going to Stanford. We'd already planned to visit each other at Christmas, where I'd be going to his place. His mom was the nicest human being on earth, and I was like their second child. And besides, it wasn't like I'd be going back to _Jeb_.

The last person I noticed was Nick Griffiths, the captain of the football team, the student body president, and the most beautiful human being to ever grace the earth with his worst part is, despite my penchant for sarcasm, I wasn't even _kidding._ It was a good thing he didn't act like he was God's gift to women, because for all I knew, he very well could be God's gift to women. J.J., the girl whose locker was beneath mine, raved about him endlessly to me on the way to class, not forgetting to mention his 4.0 GPA or his abs. He was in my Calculus class. I sat behind him, staring at the back of his head for five hours a week. And I don't think he'd ever noticed me there before, either. Unless I had come late to class, which I couldn't do, for the same reason I hadn't cold-bloodedly killed Angel with a rusty knife this morning.

As if he could tell what I am thinking, Jeff raised his head from his phone and stared confusedly, looking shocked, in my direction. I ignored the butterflies that were rolling around in my stomach and attempted to convince myself that dumping coffee on her head was enough to make her raving mad at me, but not enough to make her step down from her high proud pedestal and tell on me, and that she only would have reported me if I had punched her. And that, people, would have harmed my chances of going to the University of my dreams, Columbia, and I might forever be stuck with Jeb and Ari and Dylan, taking night classes at the community college and forever working long shifts at the bakery in the hopes of one day making enough money to escape.

I shook my head and turned back to Nick, who was definitely smart enough to be Fang. But from what I could tell, Nick Griffiths was an serious, emotion-deprived rock with no feelings. I'd never seen him talk, unlike Fang, who never shut up. I knew he was going to NYU for football, which would make it weird for him to be Fang, who told me about his dreams of being a writer. Apart from that, it was actually quite probable that Nick might be Fang. After all, it would only make him more perfect. But he was the faithful boyfriend of Miss Popularity, Angel Goldman, with blond curls and deceptively angelic blue eyes, with has faithful followers catering to her every need and sluts-in-waiting attending to her. She made me sick. And that was when I knew that there was no way in heaven or hell that Nick was Fang. Because Fang had good enough taste not to date Angel, Stream Valley High's Golden Girl.

* * *

**FANG**

_MaximumRide__: Never._

I had just spent the last few minutes trying to reason with Maximum, trying to get her to meet me at the Halloween Dance tomorrow, and was in exactly the same position I had started in.

_Fang27: Why not?_

_MaximumRide__: Because I'm not going._

God, she was opinionated. It was one of the many things I loved about her. Now, however, it was getting kind of inconvenient. I understood standing up for your beliefs, but...this was still just Homecoming we were talking about. And speaking of the dance, I still needed to find a costume. Angel had been talking for several weeks now about going as an angel for Halloween, and she looked the part deceptively well. I had absolutely no problem with Angel, whose name really should be changed, dressing as an angel for the dance. The problem was that wanted to dress as a couple, with me as her "angel of darkness." But you might have been able to tell that there was no way in hell I was ever doing that. I may have been willing to bend over backwards for the people I loved, but I drew the line here.

And about loving Angel...I wasn't so sure of that, either. She'd become increasingly nasty to anyone and everyone. A small cough would earn me a glare, and sometimes she refused to talk to me for days because of something I wasn't really sure I even had done. It was tapping on my last nerve, and it was obvious, at least to me, that when my supply of patience was depleted, Angel would hit the red button at the bottom of my bucket of tolerance, the one that would finally cause me to explode. To break up with her.

I turned my attention back to my phone, clearing my head of all thoughts off ending things with Angel.

_Fang27: And why is that?_

_MaximumRide__: Because I don't like dances._

Well, that just about cancelled out half of the school's female population.

_Fang27: Please, Maximum. I need you to._

_MaximumRide__: Oh yeah, Fang? And why is that?_

_Fang27: Just…cause. Come on, Maximum._

_MaximumRide__: "Just cause." Sure, that's a valid enough reason. I'll come just because you said that._

_Fang27: Sigh._

I was about to shut off, when—

_MaximumRide__: But I'll come. Just cause._

Yep. I was falling for Maximum. Hard.

* * *

**MAX**

"Maxine! New customers!" shouted Marian, the annoying lady Jeb had hired to ruin Mom's old bakery even more than he did.

"Keep your cool, Max. She'll be gone soon. She looks like she's about to croak." Nudge, um, nudged me with her elbow. "Not that you can tell, with all that plastic surgery."

I grinned and retied my apron. Nudge seemed to have a special talent, specifically engineered for cheering people up. She was a year older than me, and had been working here for longer than I had, having graduated high school early. She was trying to rack up enough money from different jobs to pay the scholarship she'd received to Yale. Though her giddiness and eternal happiness might suggest otherwise, Nudge was one smart cookie.

The phrase "smart cookie" was appropriate enough here, because we were at the moment in the Jeb Batchelder Bakery-Café, formerly known as The Hot Spot, because of the oven logo it had used to sport. After my mom's death, Jeb had taken The Hot Spot, the best bakery in town and everyone's favorite hangout place, and turned it into the JBBC, otherwise known as the reason why I found a gray hair in my hairbrush this morning (and I don't think it's because Jeb has been using it). Now the bakery was snooty, badly redesigned and pretty sucky on the whole. The only reason it had survived thus far was because of Nudge, who ran the bakery since Jeb hadn't taken to time to, and besides was friendly, and bubbly and a people-person. I also took pride in my mom's chocolate-chip cookie recipe, which I refused to give to anyone.

"MAXINE!"

Marian still hadn't gotten it into her head that my name is Max, not Maxine. At this point, I didn't think she ever would. Beneath that youthful face of hers was probably eighty-five year old woman who, thanks to Sunshine and Dawn (the best plastic surgeons in all of California), didn't look a day over thirty. It was hard to tell what age she was exactly. I knew she must be pretty old, because while the best plastic surgeons in the world might remedy her aging face, no one could do anything for her old, creaking voice, which hurts my ears with every word and made my lungs ache for her with every intake of breath. I was surprised she could still walk.

I sighed and went over to the new customers.

"Hi, welcome to JBBC, what can I get you?" I said the friendliest tone I could muster, because despite hating Jeb, I didn't want this bakery to fail. Where else was I going to get the money for college?

"Oh, well, look, it's Flour Girl," said a snide voice. I looked up. Angel? Nah. She wouldn't come here, right?

And despite my reassurance, it was definitely her shining blond hair and icy blue eyes I saw when I met her gaze.

It was too bad that this happened every time she came here.

"Yeah. Now, are you going to order?" I snapped, not being able to control myself.

"Um, actually, I don't think so," Angel sneered. "Let's go, guys. Nicky, you coming?"

I sighed and started to turn around.

"No, actually, let's stay here, guys. Starbucks is under renovation," Nick said, his voice a low rumble. Angel scowled, but sat back down, arms crossed. I gave Nick a grateful little look, because I knew exactly what he was doing. The local Sarbucks hadn't gone under renovation in the past ten years. Maybe he wasn't such an airhead after all.

Nick returned my look with a discreet little half-smile. I had no idea why it made me happy to see it.

"I'll have the crème brulée," said redhead-slut/Angel-crony number one, otherwise known as Lissa, in her high, deceptively sweet voice. I scribbled down her order and I went around the table collecting orders.

"How 'bout you bake me a cake, Flour Girl," said football jock number one, Sam, in the same smooth voice that had made Saraline Borders write "Sam Tucker is my husband" all over last year's yearbook. I snorted at what had to be the worst pickup line of all time, including Jeff's "do you like dragons? Because I be draggin' my balls all over your face." For the hundredth time, I inwardly cursed the uniform policy at the café, which stated that no hats were allowed. Which meant that I had to brush my hair, and people could see my face. And when people saw my face, the old ladies sympathized, the old guys winked, the teenage girls sneered, and the teenage guys flirted.

"How 'bout no," I returned pleasantly. He seemed miffed and surprised that I hadn't ripped off all my clothes and jumped him, which was the response he expected from the female population of Stream Valley High. Feeling pleased with myself, I smirked and left the table without taking his order.

Then I mentally slapped myself for making myself noticeable for the second time today.

* * *

**FANG**

"Dude, did you see her? That's Maxine from school, dude, the one that dumped the coffee on Angel's head! Dude, she's smokin'. It's like she's a different person, dude. Super hot. I gotta go ask her out sometime, dude," Sam muttered. I nodded and pretended to care. But really, he was right.

In fact, Max looked so pretty cleaning the counter, with Sam and Gazzy drooling after her, that Angel actually snarled next to me.

"What's wrong?" Brigid asked, looking concerned. "Are you okay?"

It melted a little corner of my heart to see that Brigid cared so much about Angel, even though she, being as smart as she was, probably knew that Angel didn't give two shits about her.

"Nothing!" Angel snapped, whirling on Brigid. The intensity of her glare almost seemed to make Brigid's entire physique wilt. Some of her auburn hair slipped out of her high bun, and her Angel-approved (cute enough for her to wear to school and not get kicked out of Angel's clique) glasses slipped a little down the bridge of her freckled nose.

"Why do you have to be so clingy, B? I'm not _dying_, for God's sake!" Angel continued, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Sorry," Brigid whispered. She slumped a little in her chair.

Angel sent me a _can-you-believe-her? _look and went back to drumming her sleek nails on the table.

A tiny little _plunk!_ in the back of my consciousness alerted me that Angel had just reached my maximum capacity of patience, that she had slipped down far enough to hit the big red button labeled "breakup."

That. Was. It.

"Angel?" I started.

"Hmm? I was just thinking about the dance coming up. You excited about that, Nicky?"

Please, please, _please_ don't ever call me Nicky. I might kill you.

"It's about that, Angel."

"Yeah? So, are you excited? I'm excited, especially since I have the best date in the whole school!" She apparently wasn't moving.

"You're going to have to settle for second-best, then," I said, dreading having to spell it out for her.

"No, _you're _the best. What are you talking about?"

"Can we do this is private?"

"Aw, Nicky, you know that anything you can say to me, you can say in front of Liss and B," she says, waving a hand in Redhead number one and Redhead number two's direction.

I sighed. "I'm saying that if you want a date for the dance, you're going to have to find one elsewhere."

"What do you mean?" Angel's brow furrowed slightly.

"I mean that I can't really do this anymore, Angel. I'm sorry."

"What. Do. You. Mean." Angel's eyes narrowed icily, daring me to go through with the breakup.

"Fine." I threw my hands up in the air. "You want it simple? I'm breaking up with you."

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I instantly wished I could take them back.

"What?" Lissa shrieked, and anyone listening might have thought I was breaking up with _her_.

Angel narrowed her eyes. "You don't mean that. You know you don't mean that. You're going to realize it soon enough." She stands up. "We're going to go get our nails done for tomorrow. I'll see you at the dance, Nicky." She gaves me a peck on the cheek and strode off, the redheads scrambling over themselves to keep up with her.

And from the sway in her hips and the clenched hand on her hip, I could instantly tell she was plotting revenge.

I laid my head down in my arms and let out a huge, loud puff of air that probably had some kid in Alaska going, "huh? What's that whooshing sound?"

"Well, that went well," Sam sniggered.

"Sorry, dude," Gazzy sympathized. "You'll find another date."

I nodded and turned my attention to my phone, where there was a new message from Maximum.

_MaximumRide__: I hate Angel._

I smiled.

_Fang27: Tell me about it._

* * *

**YAY! That's another chapter!**

**I know I should be updating the real Angel Experiment, but I promise that's next on my list. I know I've been making a lot of new fics, but I just can't help it. The ideas pop into my head out of nowhere. Then I'm like, GO ****AWA****Y, IDEA, I GOTTA UPDATE THE REAL ANGEL EXPERIMENT, and the idea's like, "Lol, nope."**

**By the way, thanks to all those who reviewed my first oneshot, "Rings". I love you all.**

**So anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Review to keep it going!**

**I love you guys so much! And I mean that in the most non-creeper-ish way possible, by the way. :)**

**~Ami****


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi guys! I just realized that the secret to being a good FF author is to tone down your notes at the beginning. And mine are just a bunch of crapola that are just masking two major things: a disclaimer and a message about reviewing. So here it is.**

**I ****DON****'T OWN MAXIMUM RIDE AND YOU GUYS BETTER REVIEW YOUR LITTLE BUTTS OFF OR ELSE.**

**Yep, so bye!**

* * *

_MaximumRide: I hate Angel._

Stupid Angel with her stupid redhead slaves and her stupid hot boyfriend with his stupid friends and their stupid popularity—

_Fang27: Tell me about it._

I blinked at the screen to make sure I had read Fang's message right. When I confirmed that I wasn't dreaming, I mentally cancelled out half of the male population at Stream Valley High.

_Fang27: That girl just never takes no for an answer_, he continued.

_MaximumRide: I know, right? Sometimes I just wanna rip her head off._

_Fang27: Whoa, there. Steady, girl. Down._

I couldn't help it; I laughed. Nudge looked at me strangely from across the counter. Seeing the phone in my hands, she grinned slyly.

"Aha, messaging your Prince Charming, are we?"

I fought furiously to keep the blush off my cheeks. "Nudge! He's not my anything! Just my friend," I reprimanded her, reassuring myself as much as her.

"Sure," she said in a singsong voice, "whatever you say!" She pranced to a table and set down the young couple's cheesecake with a flourish. I glared at her back and pick up my own orders.

"Okay, so the crème brulée," I started, putting it in front of Lissa. Waiting for the snide comment sure to come, I stood there. Then, when I heard nothing, I looked up.

"Wait—where's Queen Angel and her sluts-in-waiting—I mean, her friends?"

Nick face broke into a discreet smile, but he didn't answer,

"Nick tried to break up with her but she didn't take it well and left," Gazzy said. I stared at him, making sure I had registered his words correctly. Nick, _breaking up_—with _Angel_? Maybe the school's Golden Boy wasn't as stupid as I had thought he was. Well, I wouldn't call him stupid—student body president, shoo-in for valedictorian—but he is—_was_—dating Angel. That, in my opinion, qualified as the height of stupidity.

I pictured the two of them arguing over something trivial, Angel's curls, as white-blond as the Albino Retard (my hair), flashing as dangerously as her icy blue eyes. Those eyes almost brought me back to those summer days back in the beginning of high school, when Angel and I had been best friends. I remembered days of drawing Angel+Max=BFFs in her driveway, during that week where Jeb had been too sick to remind me to go to the bakery. The days of baking cakes and tanning by her pool and flipping through _Seventeen _Magazines, of swimming and splashing and laughing. All those swirled down the drain, as fast as the water had drained from that pool, when we hit the tenth grade and Angel transformed overnight from an awkward duckling to a graceful, heeled creature. I rejoiced in her beauty along with her, but when Brigid and Lissa's pretty-radar picked up on her, she was whisked away into their world and out of mine. I hated them to this very day because of it. Gone was the shy, sweet girl who'd made Ella Martinez, my neighbor, look brave. Instead was this new girl, a popular who didn't give me a second glance. So I did anything I could—I stuck a love letter that she'd written over the summer to Nick, her longtime crush, in his locker. It backfired, though. He'd ended up asking her out instead, thinking it was cute and that she'd planted it there herself. And of course, who could resist a cute, beautiful blonde? The answer remained _no one_, two years later.

"You know, you still didn't take my order," Sam whined, jolting me out of my reminiscence. Frowning, I pushed Angel's coffee, Brigid's salad and Lissa's crème brulée into his face.

"There. Now you have food. So eat it," I snapped, fed up with this overgrown baby. He sulked, his pouting face so out of place in combination with his muscled form. Nick's smile grew a little, and I mentally slapped myself in every place I could think of for letting myself be noticeable for the _third freaking time today_.

And what was up with that grin? He didn't usually smile.

He had a nice smile.

And that was the understatement of the year.

I suddenly realized why everyone craved receiving a smile, even the ghost of a smirk, from Nick Griffiths. Right now, as my head spun and the ground tipped beneath me, I found myself thinking that I would gladly do anything, maybe beg on the ground or roll over, for another one of his small grins. I would not in the least mind having to put up with Dylan for the next ten years if it meant I could see that cute dimple in his left cheek again.

_Ode to Nick's dimple, _I thought dazedly.

Then he looked down at his crotch and the magic, because that _had _to be magic, was broken.

I struggled to keep my rising blush at bay. Did I really think I could put up with _Dylan_ for another ten years?

_Eww, _I thought as I saw his thumbs move, but when I realized he was sending a text message under the table I understood it was because he was trying to be polite. Who knew?

He tapped a button and looked up again, and, almost at the same time, I felt a buzz in my pocket. I walked away, suspicious, and pulled out my phone.

_Fang27: asdfghjkl. I'm feeling happy. I know you can make me frown, so tone down my happiness so no one gets suspicious._

I smiled, then I frowned indignantly.

Then something sank in.

Nick—popular Nick, handsome Nick, Nick, who up until three minutes ago was caught in Angel's clutches—was Fang? _My _Fang? The Fang who'd once told me he'd give anything to hear my laugh?

That wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible. Fang was wordy, smart and fun, and Nick was…Nick. Tall, dark, silent, popular. He was going to NYU for football, so how could he be Columbia-oriented Fang?

My eyes widened in alarm. _No_. Then I calmed myself down. So what if it looked like he was Fang? Who knew if he really was Fang? I was going to find out.

_MaximumRide: I am a perfectly cheerful person, Captain Sunshine. But if you insist, it might be wisest to inform you that there is a pony murderer sitting next to you. You, as a pony, should tread carefully._

I glanced at Nick, who smiled at his phone. Oh no. Oh no.

Then he frowned, and his thumbs move quickly. Oh no. Please. No.

And..

There was no buzz in my pocket. I sank into a bar stool, relieved.

That was a close one.

* * *

_MaximumRide: I am a perfectly cheerful person, Captain Sunshine. But if you insist, it might be wisest to inform you that there is a pony murderer sitting next to you. You, as a pony, should tread carefully._

I almost laughed at loud. If I'd had any doubts before, I didn't have them now. Maximum Ride was absolutely..

-fantastic?

-crazy?

-amazing?

I decided to got with all three and stared to reply when another buzz interrupted me.

_Dad: Son! Where are you? Be at home by six for some extra football practice._

I frowned and stopped to think of an excuse for this one. The good ol' Library Ticket? Already taken. Tutoring? Nah, Dad thought I stopped tutoring after he told me not to. Uh…Aha! I was coaching the sixth graders in football! Nice save, Nick. I gave myself a pat on the back.

_Nick: Sorry, Dad. I'm coaching the middle schoolers tonight._

Score! Nick: 1, Dad: 0.

_Dad: Tutoring? Son, you know what I think of that._

_Nick: No, Dad. I'm coaching the sixth grade football team._

_Dad: Oh, good. Get some extra practice there anyways. Curfew's ten tonight if you and your girlfriend want to catch some dinner. Keep up the dream!_

No need to mention that Angel and I had broken up. He still thought, after meeting Angel several times, that I was dating with Sofia Vega, who I'd gone out with for two weeks when I was fourteen, back when having a girlfriend was absolutely necessary if you wanted to be cool. I'd mentioned her once in my freshman year, and he'd never forgotten her, probably, I suspected, because her name sounded like Sofia Vergara from Modern Family.

I scowled at my phone. Dad and his stupid "dream." He was all about "the dream." Oh, do this, Nick, it's for "the dream." Oh, no, Nick, you can't do that, it would get in the way of "the dream." The dream, the dream, the dream. "The dream" was, of course, Dad's crazy plan about football and real estate, and it was going to come true through "the plan:" making Nick spend all of his time doing football, making him disregard school, giving him no time to study and still expecting him to get excellent grades. Pure genius. That was why most of the time that I said was spent playing football with Sam and Gazzy after school was actually spent reading and studying. I stuffed my phone in my pocket and stood up.

"I'm going to head down to the middle school pitch to coach the younger kids. See you guys," I said abruptly.

"That's cool, dude. See you at the dance?"

"Yeah."

"Bye, dude."

Again with the "dude."

I made my way to the front of the café and whipped out my phone again to send Maximum a quick message.

_Fang27: Going to the library to study. Wanna come?_

_MaximumRide: Uh…How? We're not meeting now, buster. I already promised to meet you tomorrow, and that was a stretch._

Dammit. Well, it had been worth a try. I struggled to think of something to make the lately stressed Maximum smile. Inside jokes were always worth a try.

_Fang27: No, silly. You'll come with me in my pocket. DURRRRR._

I heard a peal of laughter and I knew I'd reached my goal.

Wait—what?

Maximum was in this room?

I scanned the room and caught Maxine, a.k.a. coffee girl, or "Flour Girl", as Angel and the rest of my friends referred to her as, laughing at her phone. My mind slowed to a crawl, only one thought registering—_how could Maxine be Maximum?_ She wasn't smart, she wasn't funny, she wasn't quick or witty or fierce the way Maximum was.

Well, maybe Maxine was smart. Maybe not smart enough to get into Columbia, but smart enough to get into Calculus. She wasn't funny or witty or wry, though. Maximum wasn't shy the way Maxine was. Maxine and Maximum just didn't add up in my mind. Her life was mostly as follows: school, work, school, work, occasional minor skirmish with Angel, repeat, repeat, repeat.

Honestly, up until today, she seemed pretty boring to me. Maxine is just wallpaper. Quiet, always there.

And now Max was going around dumping coffee and shoving food. I wondered what had gotten into her.

But there was no way this girl, Maxine—Maxine, who'd never uttered more than a sentence in my presence, who refused to talk to anyone but her one friend, who'd once gotten the best grade in my Calculus class and had refused to tell anyone how she'd done it—was Maximum, _my_ Maximum, the same girl who'd once told me she would do anything to see me smile.

I just couldn't believe it. And why should I, without proof?

_Fang27: Hey, I want a joke. Tell me a joke._

I waited for a response. I saw Max give an almost imperceptible jump, and she pulled her phone back out of her pocket. She shook her head at her phone, smiling a little, a white-blond curl dancing in front of her eyes. Her fingers gave another involuntary jump, but for what reason I didn't know. She seemed to debate for a bit, then her thumbs moved quickly over the keypad as she rolled her eyes. I found myself silently praying.

_No. Please. She can't be Maximum. Please._

She hit a big blue button with satisfaction and shoved her phone back in her pocket.

I waited. And waited.

And there was no buzz in my pocket.

Phew.

I walked out of the café, relieved.

That was a close one.

* * *

_Fang27: Hey, I want a joke. Tell me a joke._

I shook my head at Fang's immaturity and started to reply, when another buzz interrupted me.

_EEEE__! I AM SOOOOO EXCITED! SQUEAL! I'M COMING OVER RIGHT NOW, GIRLFRIEND! GET YOURSELF READY!_

What the hell?

My eyes moved to the "from" line.

Oh, Jeff.

I should have known.

Which do I answer first: Fang or Jeff? I gave it about three seconds of thought before replying my wacky best friend.

My thumbs moved quickly over the keypad as I rolled my eyes at Jeff.

_Max: K._

_Max: K._

_Max: K._

_Max: K._

It annoyed him to no end when I sent him messages saying only "k," so I sent him a couple of others. Then I snapped my phone shut with a satisfying "click." One day, I was going to have to get rid of this dinosaur. It's was becoming almost depressing.

I shoved it back into my pocket and took a bite out of a fry I stole from one of Nudge's orders. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam beckoning me over._ What does he want? _I hopped off my stool to join him at his table.

"How can I help you?" I inquired politely. For some reason, the leer on his face made me want to slam Gazzy's pie in it.

"Sit down," he said, gesturing to their booth. I stared at him, and he glared at Gazzy, who hastily shifted so that the spot they were reffering to was next to Sam. I sat down, as far away as I could from Sam without my butt falling off.

_Genius Max idea, one! _My brain sang, giving me a good suggestion. I untied my apron so that he could get an eyeful of the huge coffee stain on my white shirt. He stopped what he was about to say.

"Whoa, where'd you get that?" he asked, eyes wide. I began to spin some total lie about being a horrible slob, but Gazzy answered before I can start.

"Angel gave it to her this morning, dude, don't you remember?"

"Oh, right, dude." Sam turned his attention back to me.

"So, Maxine, how are you?"

"Uh, okay, I guess," I answered hesitantly, scooting further away from him. He didn't seem to notice.

"Right. So, Maxine—that's your name, right?"

I hesitated and debated saying no, but ruled it out. "Yeah," I said, not bothering to contradict him.

"Cool. So, Maxine, I was wondering if you were going to Homecoming tomorrow," he said, nonchalantly putting an arm around me. I tried to shrug it off casually with no success.

_Oh, no. Is he going to ask me?_ No boy had ever asked me to a dance before. And if I were to choose one person to take me, it would _not_ be Sam.

"I wasn't thinking about it very much," I admitted. He smiled.

"Would you be interested in going with me?" he asked, smooth and confident.

_No._

"I'm not going." I decided to tell him the truth, then realized that it wasn't the truth. I was going with Fang.

I was almost embarrassed by how quickly the butterflies in my stomach became restless at hearing that name.

"Oh, I'm sure we can change that," Sam said with a barely disguised smirk. "Come on. Wouldn't you come if I were taking you?"

He smiled winningly.

The earth didn't tip over and stars didn't shower me. I didn't feel dazed, impressible, or even remotely happy. I wondered why Nick's smile had such a big effect on me but Sam's didn't.

"I meant I'm not going with you," I amended. "I already have a date."

Dumbfoundment registered on his symmetrical face.

"What?"

"Yeah."

"Who?"

I pretended not to hear his question and got up. Tying my apron back on, I added, "If there's anything else I can help you with, please let me know." I walked away, leaving an openmouthed Sam behind me.

_MaximumRide: Sam is such a butthead._

* * *

_MaximumRide: Sam is such a butthead._

_Fang27: Ha. I know, right? He has serious issues. How can someone fit the word 'dude' so many times in a sentence?_

_MaximumRide: I know, right? It's freaking annoying!_

The second I walked into the Stream Valley Library, I was ambushed by a busty redhead.

"Hi, Nick!" She waved cheerfully; I nodded to her in greeting. She appeared elated, but then turned her expression into something that managed to look both sorry and sultry at the same time.

"I hear you broke up with Angel," she said sympathetically.

_How does she know that?_

How did news travel this fast? Did Angel even know her? Did _I _know her?

"Yeah," I said, straight-faced. She seemed a little taken aback by my lack of emotion, but gave me a sympathizing look and caressed my arm.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "Well, I'm always here if you need someone, okay?"

She waited for an answer, hopping softly from one foot to the other.

"Sure," I finally answered. She smiled and turned to leave, her reddish hair swinging on her white sweater. Then, as if forgetting something, she spun around abruptly.

"Oh, and Nick, if you need a date for the dance, I'm here too."

I smiled. "No, that's okay," I assured her.

"Aw, I know you just broke up, but you deserve to have a little pick-me-up. Meet you at seven tomorrow?" She threw me a cute little wink.

"No, I meant I already have a date," I amended. Dumbfoundment registered on her symmetrical face.

"What?"

"Yeah."

"Who?"

I pretended not to hear her question. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I added, "Thanks, though. Appreciate it." As I walked away, I heard a furious mutter.

"Damn it! Sarah must have gotten to him before me. I had dibs!"

I shook my head, confused. _Dibs? _I decided right then and there that girls were way more complicated than they were worth.

_Fang27: You know, I hate to offend you, but girls are way complicated._

* * *

_Fang27: You know, I hate to offend you, but girls are way complicated._

"'Tis I!" Jeff burst through the double doors of the café dramatically. I rolled my eyes.

"What?"

"Guess what?" started Jeff, leaning on the counter, not at all fazed by my unfriendly greeting.

"What? And why were you texting like a girl again?" It was Jeff's turn to roll his eyes.

"If you had just let me finish, you would have known the answer to all of those questions." He huffed dramatically. "Anyways, guess what juicy tidbit of information I got"—he checked his iPhone—"ten minutes ago!"

"What?" I asked again, already suspicious.

"I learned at exactly"—he checked his phone again—"six twenty-seven, that…drumroll please…"

My eyes were going to get stuck while I was rolling them if I spent any more time with Jeff.

"Angel broke up with her boyfriend! WOOT WOOT!" He pranced around the store like a crazy person. Thank God that the café was closed, or we'd be having some major customer issues. I sighed and put my head in my arms on the counter.

"You know, I don't think Angel would ever date you if she saw you like this," I remarked offhandedly. I didn't expect a response, but miraculously, Jeff stopped mid-pirouette and shut up. I suppressed a small smile. If only I had known that that was all that it took to get him under control.

"Why aren't you 'Woot woot'-ing with me?" he sulked.

"One, because I'm not crazy," I started, relishing the pout that popped onto his face immediately after, "and two because I already know."

"I'm not—wait, how do you know? Max Ride, the antisocial no-lifer, ahead of me in gossip? That's almost more surprising than the Angel-Nick breakup."

"I know because I was there," I said, "and I'm _not_ antisocial." I frowned at him. It had little effect, because Jeff was almost _blind_ to even the most intense death glare I could shoot his way.

"You were there?" Jeff only seemed to notice the first part of my sentence. "What happened?"

"I didn't know what was going on at first, but Nick said something and Angel said something else and then she left but I didn't notice," I explained. Jeff sighed.

"We're never going to get you there, are we?" he realized sadly, shaking his head.

"Nope," I affirmed proudly. "There" was 'I-like-gossip-as-much-as-Tess-Fray.'

"But anyways, the important news is that Angel is now on the market!" he said, rebounding back to his extreme hyper happiness. I shot him a warning glance before he could go bouncing off the walls again.

"Is that how you guys think of girls? As objects or stocks or whatever?" Now I was just going out of my way to annoy him. But it was true that I didn't really care for the gossip going-ons at Stream Valley High.

He rolled his eyes. "Anyways, wanna know the other exciting news?"

"What?"

"I finally found my Halloween costume for the dance!"

This time, I was actually excited, because the two of us had spent ages trying to find him a good enough costume. "Cool! Good for you, Jeff! What is it?"

"I'm going as Edward," Jeff announced proudly. I gave him a blank look.

"Edward?"

"Edward from Twilight," he specified. I shook my head.

"You know, you're probably the only guy in the world who has read Twilight," I informed him.

"And?"

I ignored him. "How are you going to make an Edward costume?"

"Easy," he answered, pulling off his shirt.

"Jeff!" I yelped, covering my eyes. "I just ate!"

No response. I carefully unshielded my eyes to find myself eye-level with a well-defined six-pack. I looked up incredulously to see if Nick or some other football jock has mysteriously reappeared, but I only see a pair of smirking light blue eyes.

"Jeff?" I asked, uncertain.

"Yep." He was obviously proud of himself; I could hear it in his voice.

"You've been working out without me," I accused. He shrugged.

"Good costume, right?"

"Jeff, it's not a costume, it's just you without a shirt. This costume is just a ploy to get Angel to notice you," I said, seeing right through him.

"No, I'm going to put sunscreen with glitter in it and put glitter in my hair and everything," he said earnestly. "And I can talk in a British accent too, look. 'Ellow, Mayte!"

I winced at Jeff's horrible accent. "I'd stick to just regular English if I were you," I advised. He stuck his tongue out at me.

"How is anyone going to get your costume, anyways?"

"Believe me, Max, you are the only female student at Stream Valley High who hasn't read Twilight. I think even Ms. Segherdal has read Twilight. And besides, guess who I got to accompany me as Bella?" He slipped his shirt back on.

"Who?"

"Ella Martinez, your lovely neighbor."

"You know Ella?" I was incredulous. I'd never seen them interact, even though I knew Ella had a strange infatuation with my best friend. It struck me as strange that he had gone out of his way to talk to her.

"Yeah." Jeff nonchalantly picked dirt out of his fingernails. "She was practically tripping over herself to do it."

"Jeff! That's not nice! You know she has a major crush on you." For what reason, I didn't know.

"Max, we're only going as friends," he informed me dubiously, as if I were being completely unreasonable and he were always right.

Sometimes I wondered if Jeff tried to be stupid on purpose "That's my _point_, Jeff."

He shook his head. "Girls are way too complicated. Maybe I should be gay."

"Angel's straight."

"Never mind."

I snickered.

_MaximumRide: I think thy are mistaken, Fang, love. 'Tis boys who are complicated._

* * *

"'Tis I!" proclaimed the prince. I felt like he was going to leap out of my collective work of fairy tales and stab me.

I was studying for my English exam on folk tales, and my next assignment was to take a fairy tale and rewrite it with a modern twist. I'd been thinking of doing Sleeping Beauty, but I didn't have the slightest idea of what I could do with it. At least I had another two weeks to finish it, because my mind kept wandering to other topics, such as finding a Halloween costume for Homecoming.

"Nick?"

I looked up to see Tess, her long brown hair fluttering from the wind flitting through the open window.

"Hey."

Tess took that as an invitation to sit down, and drummed her fingers on the table.

I expected straightforward Tess to get straight to the point. I suspected that she was here to ask me to accompany her to the Homecoming Halloween dance. I was going to say that I already had a date, and then she would leave, disappointed.

As bigheaded as my thoughts sounded, they only were that narcissistic because seven other girls had asked me to the dance since that redhead at the entrance of the library.

"I heard about your breakup with Angel," Tess started. Just like Justine and Carla and Sydney and Lexi had. I waited. At least Tess was actually entitled to know; out of all of the girls previously mentioned, she was the only one friends with Angel.

"Yeah," I said after she doesn't continue.

"I'm sorry, Nick." I was caught by surprise by the genuine sympathy in her voice. I looked up and saw a Tess I'd never seen before: In track shorts, her face free of makeup, her long hair reaching her waist.

"It's okay."

"I know you really liked her," Tess continued sadly.

"Uh, yeah. It's fine." What was making these condolences, which were said in a voice as sad as if Angel had died or something, so awkward was that as more time passed, I began to realize that for the past few months, I really _hadn't _liked Angel.

"Well, don't you sound heartbroken," she remarked sarcastically, the first girl to pick up on my unintentionally bored tone. "Kind of like Sam when he doesn't get his bacon. 'Dude," Tess said in a exaggerated imitation of Sam's drawl, "all my bacon's gone!'" She made a sad face.

I let out a little laugh. It was strange having a girl who wasn't Maximum making me laugh.

"Yeah," I agreed. "He can be a real butthead sometimes."

I didn't know why I was laughing and talking freely with this girl that I'd hung around with for years but never really known. She was slightly different, right here, right now. I saw another Tess here, a genuine one who has feelings and a personality. I wasn't sure what to make of it. Maybe I just hadn't talked to her enough.

"Did you just come back from track?" I asked, gesturing to her outfit. Octobers here in California were still warm, so it was perfectly normal to dress in summer clothes.

"Nah, this is usually the kind of thing I wear after school," Tess admitted. "Those skinny jeans are, like, suffocating my legs."

I smiled. "Then why do you—"

"Dress like that? Act like that? Put on stage makeup and prance around in heels with the Angel clique?" Tess supplied. "I—" She paused.

"Go on," I prompted her.

She sighed. "I used to be a loser, okay? I don't want to go back to that. If I don't want to get picked on, I need to stay popular. Besides, every girl wants to be popular, right?" She looked at me for reassurance. "Right?"

"Sure," I said hesitantly. She clamped a hand over her mouth, as if she'd said too much.

"Don't tell Angel you saw me like this okay?" She waved a hand over her track shorts and sports shirt. "Please."

"Okay," I said uncertainly. Any feeling I'd had that Tess wasn't the way she usually acted was gone now. She was just like any other girl. I nodded.

"Ooh, is that a collective work of fairy tales? I have one of those, too! Which one are you reading?" Tess leans over the table to examine the book.

I remembered Maximum mentioning that she had a book of fairy tales.

"This is the same edition as mine," she noted with approval. "Cool."

We slipped into easy conversation out of nowhere, and the more we talked, the more I realized that she was _nice. _A genuine, nice person.

"Ouch," I said, as we reached the topic of her Mom pushing her to sign up for Barnard, "I know how you feel. My dad is the same way." I stopped myself before I could get to 'The Plan.' Why was I telling Tess this? She was actually kind of easy to be around.

"It's quite annoying, actually," Tess said. "I hate it when parents are like that."

"My dad has a plan for me too," I heard myself say. _Stop it, Nick. I'm warning you, stop. _Why was I revealing stuff to her? She was _Tess._ A different Tess, maybe, but who knew she wasn't just going to run back to Angel to tell her everything?

"I gotta go, I'll leave you to your studying." Tess got up and smiled at me. "Nice talking to you, Nick. See you at the dance?"

"Yep."

She turned to leave.

It kind of shocked me to find out that nail-polish-sporting, gossip-loving, heel-wearing Tessa was a human being.

"Hey—Tess," I said abruptly. She turned around.

"Do you wanna go get some coffee tomorrow?" The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I was surprised to find that I didn't regret them.

"Sure," Tess said, her smile ten times brighter. "See you then."

An idea slipped into my mind.

_What if Tess is Maximum?_

_Fang27: Today is a day for surprises._

* * *

_Fang27: Today is a day for surprises._

_I couldn't agree more, _I thought.

"Wanna hear my news?"

Jeff hopped onto the counter as I began to mop the floor.

"What is it? Finally going to meet Prince Charming?" I shot him a look about the 'Prince Charming,' but just like all the other looks I gave him, he didn't notice it. "Probably not, knowing you," Jeff sighed. "I feel sorry for the poor guy."

"Actually, yes, I am meeting him," I answered coolly. "And what is it with the 'Prince Charming' stuff? Lay off."

"Max! What is it with all the 'woot woot'-ing in here?" Nudge stepped out of the kitchen, balancing a platter on her head, one in each hand and one in the crook of her left arm. I clapped as she twirled on the wet floor with perfect balance, not losing a single one. When she came full circle, the smile slipped off her face.

"Jeff," she said in an icily polite voice.

"Tiffany," Jeff returned, mimicking her tone.

Tiffany was Nudge's real name. She and Jeff had some inexplicable problem with each other.

"Okay guys, enough with the sexual tension thing. It's getting old."

Nudge turned a deep shade of raspberry and Jeff gaped at me like a fish without air.

Oh, I was so good at changing the mood.

Nudge glared at me.

"So what were you saying about meeting Prince Ch—Fang?" Jeff said, in a desperate attempt to throw the attention off of him. This was so out of character for attention-loving Jeff that I actually stopped pursuing the subject.

"Yeah, I got sweet-talked into meeting him tomorrow," I admitted.

"Wait—you're going to finally meet him? Oh, my GOD! We have to get you the perfect outfit, and do your hair and your makeup, and we can paint your nails—" Nudge went from 'normal mode' into 'squealing mode'.

"It's not a date. I'm meeting him at the Homecoming Halloween Dance." I winced at the thought of makeup. The last time I had put on makeup was when Dylan had taken special interest in being a beautician, and the time before that was at my mother's funeral.

"Even better! We can get you as a nurse, or a policewoman—not the gross kind, but the sexy costume—and—"

"I am not dressing up like a slut, Nudge!"

She frowned. "Slut is kind of a strong word, you know, especially if what I had in mind classifies as "beautiful" and not "slutty.""

"That's why I'm using it."

She pouted. "I am classier than that, Miss Maximum." I blew her a kiss, and she rolled her eyes, smiling.

"So you told him who you were?" Jeff asked, excited. He was on the brink of joining Nudge in 'squeal mode'.

"Um, no. At the dance." I was planning on getting into some ghost costume or something where he couldn't see my face, and then avoiding him for the rest of the year once I found out who he was.

"You know you're going to have to tell him," Nudge pressed in a singsong, teasing voice. I fell back into a chair.

"But I don't wanna," I whined.

Jeff danced his fingers along my chair. "I think you should."

"But what if I'm not what he expects?" I demanded. "Fang is a great guy. He's expecting an equally amazing person." I shake my head. "I'm not that person. What if he won't want to be friends anymore, after finding out who I am?" I pop a fry in my mouth and chew it thoughtfully.

"Then he's an asshole," Jeff said bluntly. "Look, you're an amazing girl. You're the best friend I've ever had. You know that, right? Fang is a lucky guy. You'll be fine." He sat across from me, stealing a fry from the huge plate of spares in front of us.

You're great, and if Fang doesn't realize how lucky he is to have you, he doesn't deserve you," Nudge decided. "And besides, no one will _ever_ turn you down once I'm through with you."

I groaned and swatted her hand. "Nudge." She playfully swatted me back and pushed me further into the booth so she can slide in next to me and sneak fries from the heaping plate.

"But I still don't have a costume," I realized with a sinking feeling. "All the good costumes are already gone form stores."

"I can fix that," Nudge said, a glint in her eye that emerged when she was determined.

_MaximumRide: But I wonder what surprises tomorrow will bring._

* * *

**So? Thoughts?**

**Guess what? I might even throw in a little Eggy for you.**

**I seriously, honestly, honest-to-goodness-from-the-very-bottom-of-my-big- Ami-heart love all of my reviewers. My iPod broke, so I haven't been able to do much PMing, (except to my new Fanfic bestie Renee135!), but still feel free to give me any suggestions!**

**Bye!**

**~Ami****


	4. Chapter 4

**GUESS WHAT IT IS TODAY? GUESS!**

**IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! YAY ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !**

**I'm so excited. Seriously. And I have to add that you people are the most awesome peeps in the world. Seriously. You guys are all rock stars.**

**A big fat thank you to Half-Blooded Avian Victor, VampiresExplodeInLight, CakeIsAGoodFriend, Elemental Dragon Slayer, Hey (Guest), BirdKidKirby, Miss Anonymous (AWESOMEST REVIEWER EVER), Skatzaa, SecretDIARIES1208 (extremely funny review), Sunshone, DevoraDeath, Writer of the Faeries, ICECREAM1, Guest, Athena, and Renee135 (my Fanfic bestie :))**

**'Cause, you know, you reviewed.**

**On with the chapter!**

**Max**

_Scrub. Scrub. Scrub._

The steady rhythm of my scrubbing brush against the tile floor was perfectly in time with the _drip drip drip_ of the leaky faucet Nudge was trying to fix.

"Ugh." Nudge grunted and pulled herself upright. "This is hell."

"You're telling me," I muttered. I dunked my brush back into the bucket of water and scrubbed some more.

"How come Jeb doesn't let you off the hook? You know, because you're his _daughter_ and all," Nudge said, blowing a stray curl off her forehead. Her hair was a mess and her face is streaked with grime, but she still looked gorgeous. I wondered how she did it. She had a mop of beautiful curls the color of burnt caramel that brushed her shoulders, and her mocha skin was soft and smooth. Her eyes were a deep, warm brown and they shone amber in the light.

"Tell me about it," I agreed. "I don't even get paid extra, like you do."

"You're his _daughter_," she repeated.

"Am _not_," I retorted. "Do most fathers force their daughters to work in their shops until they get sores? I think not. I don't even _want_ to be related to him."

Nudge sighed. "You know, I think you should stand up to him," she said, not for the first time.

Not this again. "Nudge, you know I can't. Where else am I going to get the money for Columbia?"

"Lots of people would hire you. You're hardworking and capable, and honestly, no one likes to turn down a pretty girl."

"Then why don't you quit?"

Nudge stopped working for a few moments.

"Well." She stopped, and started again. "Max, you know I think of you as a sister, right?"

I smiled. "Yeah."

"Well, you know I would do anything for you, right?"

"Uh-huh." I wondered where's she's getting at.

"Well." Beat. "Well, you know this bakery would fail if not for me, right?"

"Right."

"Well." Nudge didn't brush back the curls that fell over her face, giving me the impression that she was hiding behind the curly sheet of hair. "Well, you know that—that you don't want to switch jobs, right?"

"Uuuuhhh-huh," I replied, stretching out the word.

"Well." 'Well' seemed to be her new favorite word. She stared up at the ceiling, then down at the floor. "Well, you need this bakery to succeed so you can get the money for college."

"Yeah." I waited for her to say more.

Then I put two and two together. "Nudge! Are you telling me that you're only working here because of me?"

"Yeah," she grinned sheepishly, glancing away. I laughed.

"I was only working here because you were! I didn't want to leave you alone with Jeb!"

She looked at me, and after a long pause, we both burst into laughter. Nudge leaned on her broom for balance.

"Then we both quit," she decides.

"Not now. Soon." I look away.

"Why?"

I sighed. _Think, Max, think. She can't know you're a wimp._

"Nudge, who says I'm ever going to see you again after we both quit?" I blurted out.

"Uh, I do. You don't think I'd leave my little sister like that, right?"

I felt relief at Nudge's belief of my stupid excuse. If she'd found out I hadn't quit for fear of Jeb's reaction, she would never look at me the same way again.

_Buzz_. I flipped open my phone.

_Fang27: Siblings are so annoying._

I smiled at the random message from Fang.

_MaximumRide: Not if you have the right ones._

**Fang**

_MaximumRide: Not if you have the right ones._

Huh? What did she mean, 'not if you have the right ones'? It wasn't me who was always the one ranting about my stepbrothers. Had they suddenly made up?

Because I could be the first to confirm that siblings were plenty annoying. Just take my little sister Celeste, for example.

"Celeste! Stop!" My attempts to calm her had no effect whatsoever. She kept zooming around the living room, her arms spread wide and in danger of knocking something down. Her dress was snagging on random objects, like the coffee table, which temporarily slowed her down enough for me to catch her.

"Gotcha!" I picked her up and ignored her struggling. I found it ironic that my biggest challenge—me, the student body president, the future valedictorian and school quarterback—was an annoying seven-year old girl.

Of course, if I hadn't been subject to the torture known as babysitting, I wouldn't be facing any challenges at all.

I'd decided to call it quits for the night at the library after had Tess gone home. I'd driven back home, contemplating Halloween costumes, and opened the door of the house to find my mother, who promptly pushed past me.

"Nick, honey, we're going out tonight! Stay with Celeste, will you?" She'd ran down the steps the best she could in heels, her blond hair flying behind her as she got into the car. The two drove away before I had time to protest, leaving me with the Little Terror and her army of stuffed animals.

My arms had never felt as tired as they did now, as I tried to get the Little Terror into her chair for dinner.

"Celeste, we have to eat," I attempted to reason.

"No!" She struggled in my arms.

"I made mac and cheese," I added.

Instantly, she sat straight in her chair, an angelic expression on her face. She held out her bowl expectantly, and I filled it. Then I sighed and sink into my chair.

"Yum." Celeste wolfed down her macaroni and cheese. Now that she was still, she was actually nice to look at. I smiled at her and spooned some of my own pasta into my mouth, making sure to catch the extra bacon bits Celeste had always insisted be there.

When she finally finished her food, I hauled her upstairs to give her a bath and tuck her in. She insisted we do the "toothbrush dance," which was basically a sequence of random wiggles that she invented on the spot while brushing her teeth and expected me to copy, and I stuck her in her bed and pull the covers up to her chin.

"Night, Nick," she says, grinning at me with a child's wide smile, a gap in her mouth where her two front teeth used to be, little over a week ago. It always amused me to see that little kids invariably lost both of their front teeth at the same time.

Despite being composed purely of energy, Celeste was the most important piece of my life. I wouldn't have traded her, annoyingness and all, for anything the world had to offer. I smiled as I brushed some black curls off her forehead and gave her a goodnight kiss.

"Night, Celeste."

I turned off the lights, leaving only one, the way she'd requested it, and closed the door behind me.

Now was as good a time as any to work on my college essays. I sat down at my desk, taking out a pencil for a rough outline of the first question.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

But my pencil wouldn't write. All it did was tap the desk. It was getting annoying. And when I finally managed to put pen to paper, all it seemed to want to write was _Maximum. Maximum. Maximum. Maximum._

I took out my laptop to type, hoping that my fingers would be able to convey what my pencil couldn't. When I began to type, however, instead of the usual stream of letters, all that appeared on the screen is _Maximum. Maximum. Maximum._

She was slowly taking control of every aspect of my life, I realized.

I opened up Google to hopefully find something useful. My fingers disagreed with my brain and instead they searched _cool Halloween costumes._

I blew out a puff of air that even Celeste, who was asleep, must have been able to hear.

Maybe messaging Maximum would do me some good.

_Fang27: Maximum? What should I go to the dance as?_

It had been bothering me all day. I'd been driven to distraction from my studies, from lunch, from my friends, since the moment Maximum had agreed to meet me at Homecoming.

She didn't reply.

I closed up what progress I had made on my first college essay and instead opened up my AP English assignment. The problem was that my brain seemed to want to make no further progress than _Once upon a time. _Nothing came to mind.

_Maximum Ride, messing up my brain as usual._

Why couldn't I stop thinking about her?

**Max**

I stared down at my desk. Maybe if I stared hard enough, a college essay would appear.

Right. I'd started to let it sink in that my life was no fairy tale.

And speaking of fairy tales, I had been putting off my AP English assignment for a while, now, and if my fingers refused to write a college essay, how hard could modernizing a fairy tale be?

I chewed the end of my pencil, searching for subjects. Suddenly, a bitterly amusing thought came to me. _Why don't I just write my life story?_ I gave a bitter little laugh. No one would think twice about it. I was like a modern version of Cinderella, with no happily-ever-after in sight.

I started really getting an idea of how sad my life was when I actually started writing down my life.

_Once upon a twenty-first century, there was this average-looking girl with a boy's name. She was young—young and reckless and stupid and seventeen. Her hair was blond, so light it was almost the color of white sand, and she had lovingly nicknamed it "the Albino Retard". Her eyes had once been compared to un-barfed chocolate by the school's queen bee. She had a completely crazy best friend named Jeffrey Chase—_I crossed this out and wrote _James… _I searched for a last name. Griffiths! _James Griffiths. _I was sure not even Nick would notice if I snuck in his last name—_and a job at the local bakery. And her mother was dead._

As the words flew out of the tip of my pencil, I realized how much like the beginning of a fairy tale my own tale sounded.

I scribbled a few more sentences after the first paragraph. But when I looked down, the only thing I'd written after that introduction was _Fang. Fang. Fang._

Why couldn't I stop thinking about him? I'd almost forgotten to hand in my Spanish assignment, so deep in thought about him I was.

"Max!" A nasal voice startled me out of my chair. I glared at the intercom.

"What, Ari?"

"Dad wants you to come down here. And make us dinner, while you're at it," Ari's voice rang, crackling both from the intercom and from the fact that despite him being a junior, he just hit puberty. He'd transformed from a scrawny blond kid to a huge, hairy brown-haired thug in a matter of days.

"Whatever." I started trotting down the stairs, but thought better of it and changed into a skirt and blouse. I stared at my ruined shirt, the coffee stain big and blotchy and staring back at me sadly.

This was why I should never wear nice things.

I tried to run a comb through the Albino Retard, but the teeth got caught in the white-blond snarls. Instead I sighed and snuck down the stairs, careful not to make any noise. When I got to the bottom, I threw some pasta into a pan, filled it with water, and stuck it on the stove, turning the heat up.

"Where does Jeb want me?" I asked Dylan, who was sitting at the table in front of his plate.

_Like a good little boy_, I thought, my lip curling.

"In his dining room," he answered, without looking up. "I don't want pasta for dinner."

"Well, it's what you're getting," I snapped. He was so spoiled that he didn't know what it was like not to have everything you wanted every second of the day. "Where's Ari?"

"In the bathroom. Can we have meat sauce with the pasta?"

"Sure." I shrugged.

"Daddy wants you to bring him a platter of appetizers and to make him dinner and to get him water," Dylan rattled off. I'd never heard another boy his age call his father 'daddy.' "And he has a guest. Make it snappy."

"Ugh." I rested my elbow on the counter and let out a long, frustrated sigh. Dylan glanced up.

"Oh, good! You're finally dressing nice! It's too bad, though. Daddy wants you to wear that," he said disapprovingly, eyeing the neat white apron and cap on the counter with distaste.

I groaned. "Not again." Jeb was starting to take this 'maid' act a little too far.

I poured water into two glasses and stuck them on a platter. Making sure Dylan didn't see, I put salt in one glass, the one to my right. I smiled to myself as I pulled on the apron and the cap.

I walked into the dining room, balancing the tray with an expert had that I acquired after my mother's death.

"Hello." I smiled politely at Jeb's guest as I set down the water, making sure to give him the one without salt. Guests were frequent here, as part of Jeb's job as an investment banker in addition to owning the bakery.

"Well, hello there," he said politely. "And who might you be?" His eyes raked my body, and I give an involuntary shudder that shook the tray still in my hand.

"This is Maxine, our—our maid," Jeb answered hastily before I could say anything. I bit my check to keep from screaming at him. "Anyways, Mr. Singher—"

"How old are you, Maxine?" Mr. Singher interrupts.

"Twenty," Jeb answered again. I'm not sure it's legal for someone my age to work as a live-in maid, and I'm tall enough to pass for twenty.

"Mmm-hmm." Mr. Singher turned back to Jeb. "Mr. Batchelder, you might want to consider that—" he broke off, distracted, and glanced my way again. Jeb motioned for me to leave.

For once, I obliged willingly.

After a few minutes, I heard a sputtering noise followed by loud, racking coughs. I grinned. The salt had evidently found its way into Jeb's throat.

He'd stopped acknowledging me as his daughter years ago. I'd been about eight when my mom married Jeb. I had just turned nine when she died.

That had been eight years ago.

Around when I'd turned thirteen, Jeb had decided I looked old enough to be Ari (who hadn't hit puberty yet)'s tutor. By fourteen I was his niece twice removed visiting. At fifteen I was Dylan's girlfriend, which let him put his arm around me without me whacking him. It was horrifying—I'd always known that my stepbrothers had tiny crushes on me, but that had just disturbed me. When I'd turned was sixteen, I looked old enough to be mistaken for an intern working for Jeb, and by seventeen I was the hired help.

"Dinner," I said in a monochord voice as I dumped pasta onto Dylan and Ari's plates.

"I don't like pasta," Ari whined, as spoiled as his brother.

"Do you like dinner?" I asked slowly.

"Yeah," he replied, confused.

"Well, then, eat it." I turned on my heel and got started on Jeb's dinner.

I hated Jeb so much, so, so, so much. I hated him. _Hated _him.

_It's a hard-knock life, for us… _I sang in my head, before modifying the lyrics. _It's a hard-knock life, for me, it's a hard-nock life, for me…_ I giggled in my misery, and I wondered whether I was losing my sanity.

**Fang**

"So, how was your dinner?" I take a bite of pancake and look to my mom and dad, who look back at me surprised since I don't usually initiate conversation.

They were already surprised enough that I was actually awake for breakfast on a Saturday. But today wasn't any Saturday. Today I was going to find a Halloween costume and have coffee with a girl who was potentially Maximum.

Mom got over her surprise quickly. "Oh, it was wonderful, wasn't it, Frank?. Really amazing. We had Mexican food, and the whole convention of scientists was there, as well as some colleagues of your fathers. Tyra Banks was even there!" Mom could barely contain her excitement.

"Anne." Dad gave her an amused look, and turned back to me. "John Abate was there, Brigid Dwyer was there, the whole crew, really."

I nearly choked on my pancake. "Brigid Dwyer?" Brigid? Why would Brigid be there?

"Yes honey. You're friends with her daughter, yes?" Mom got up to get more food.

"Her…daughter?"

Dad nodded. "Her name is also Brigid. You are dating, am I right?"

"No, Dad. We're not dating." Brigid's mom was a scientist. Oh.

It was sad how little about me my parents knew. My mom was better than my dad. I'd told her a couple months ago what I really wanted to do, instead of what Dad had planned for me, and she'd thought it was wonderful because she didn't like football. My dad, however, was a completely different story. First there was the whole "dream" thing. Then the fact that he thought I was dating Sofia Vega, who had moved three weeks after our 'breakup'. Then the fact that whenever I was studying, he thought I was doing something more suited to his image of me, like hanging out at a bar with my friends with our fake IDs or looking at inappropriate stuff on the Internet.

I didn't think that's what most parents _wanted _their children doing, but who was I to judge?

"Oh yeah, that's right. You're going out with Sofia Vergara."

"Sofia _Vega_, Dad, and no, she moved two years ago."

"Then you don't have a girlfriend?" Dad stopped eating momentarily and peered at me over his pancakes, his eyebrows raised.

"We broke up yesterday, actually." I tried to slip in this new piece of information casually. Why not inform them of what their son had been doing while they were prancing around at dinner parties?

"Oh really? Why?" Mom looked at me with concern. "Are you okay?"

"I broke up with her, actually."

"Who was it?" Dad broke in.

"Angel Goldman."

"I don't like her," Mom immediately said. "She's that redhead with the pointy face, right?"

"No, Mom, that's Lissa."

"Oh."

We ate our pancakes in silence.

"I don't like Angel either," an earnest voice said to my left.

Who could that be? None other than the hyper Little Terror, who hadn't said anything this whole time and chooses to say one thing that surprises me.

"Really? Why not?" She'd met Angel twice, and both times they had seemed to get along okay.

"She's mean. She laughed at me when I said I named my teddy bear after me. And she said teddy bears are for babies."

Where had I been when that happened?

"I'm glad you broke her up," Celeste admitted, looking at me with big hazel eyes.

"He didn't break her up. He broke up with her," Mom corrected.

**Angel third person**

He hadn't broken up with her. He'd broken her up.

Angel stared at the mascara stains on her pillow and wiped her eyes. She'd been so excited this morning when she'd seen the angel costume on her beanbag, all ready for tonight. She'd been so happy when she thought of the whole day of primping and polishing with Liss and B. And she'd been ecstatic at the thought of her, Angel Goldman, who a few years ago was the nerdiest girl in school, at the arm of the hottest, sweetest boy in Stream Valley High. Maybe even in all of California. Who was hers, all hers.

Except he wasn't hers. Not any more, in any event. Why had he left her? She'd done everything for him. She'd loved him endlessly. She'd adored his little sister. She'd even named her teddy bear (_tell anyone about it and you die_), which she was clutching at the moment, after Celeste. She'd been going to rule the Homecoming Halloweenn Dance, which was a bigger event at Stream Valley High than Prom. And the Winter Ball after that, which was even bigger than Homecoming. And now she couldn't.

What could have made him leave her like that? There had to be a reason, she was sure. It couldn't be because he doesn't like her anymore. Who didn't like her? It had to be something else.

Maybe…a girl.

Angel contemplated the idea.

Then she smiled

She wasn't going to storm up to him and demand about the girl (it had to be a girl. Why else would he leave her? Someone else must have enticed him).

No.

She had a much better plan.

She is going to be her prettiest, most gorgeous, most loveable and most seductive Angel. She was going to find any moment or weakness to become desirable in his eyes. She, Angel Goldman, was going to win back her Nick Griffiths. And then ruin the life of the girl who'd stolen him.

Because she and Nick were meant to be together.

She set Celeste, her bear, back on her duvet and got up to face the day, a smile on her lips.

**Max**

_Fang27: Maximum? What should I go to the dance as?_

11: 45 was the time above the message. It had been sent last night. Why had I only gotten it this morning?

_MaximumRide: I don't even know what I'm going as, how should I know?_

Then I realized that this is a huge problem.

Last night I had stayed up late doing college essays. This morning I'd overslept, and Dylan had puked because no one had been there to make him a proper breakfast—I can't cook, but it's kind of hard to mess up cereal—and he'd decided to try to make one himself. Bad decision.

Jeb had predictably yelled at me, and sent me to work early. I'd served the people with no life who chose to come to a crappy café at eight in the morning, and started making cookie dough and doing other odd jobs until more people showed up, which was at around three.

"Nudge?" I asked, glancing over to where she was expertly throwing spices into her pizza sauce. "Can you help me with something?"

"Yeah? What?" Nudge shook her head back so that the people who were going to eat this pizza—sadly not me—avoided finding a strand of curly caramel hair in their sauce.

I paused, trying to decide whether the it was really a safe idea to ask her this. If the torture of thousands of clothes-trying sessions was worth it. Finally, I decided it was.

"My costume," I admitted. Nudge opens her mouth, excited, and I waited for the onslaught of squealing and jumping and hugging and "ZOMG!"s, but she stiffened. I looked at where she was glaring.

Jeb had just walked in with the Terrible Twins, who were eyeing the café distastefully. Well, Dylan was, anyways. Ari was too busy trying to steal French fries from the old couple sitting next to where he was standing.

"Hey, Ari," I heard Dylan whisper to his brother, "Look. There's Samira. She's going to be such a dweeb at the dance tonight."

Jeb whirled around. "What dance?"

Dylan rolled his eyes. "You know, _the _dance? The Halloween dance? Where I'm going to win the Prince Crown?"

"Oh, right. Of course you'll win," Jeb amended consolingly to Dylan.

"Not unless Fang does," I muttered, sure Jeb can't hear me over the noise of the pots and pans and steam and conversation.

"Excuse me?" Jeb turned to me. Everyone else working pretended to not hear him.

_He heard me_. _Oops_.

"I said I'm sure he's going to win," I revised in sugarcoated tones. "I can't wait to see."

"See? How?" Dylan raised an eyebrow at me.

"At the dance."

"The dance?" Jeb laughed. "Oh, Max. You're not going to the dance."

**Cliffy. Hehe.**

**So? What did you think?**

**Guys, go read "Maya-haters unite," by Renee135. We co-wrote it, it's awesome!**

**Oh, and, new poll up, by the way.**

**Miss Anonymous, thanks for suggesting putting whose POV it is. I hadn't thought of it. I guess it must get hard to read. By the way, you are the most amazingestest reviewer ever. :)**

**By the way, did any of you feel bad for Angel? I sure didn't. Maybe at the beginning, but not by the end. Stupid Angel. Did you like her POV, though?**

**Do you guys like it when I put a POV that's not Max's or Fang's? Whose POV should I do next?**

**By the way, Athena, if my breakup scene is like Cake's, it's because that's how it actually was in the movie. And the stars after my name? One is for me, and the other is for my cousin, who is like my Maximum Ride-obsessed best friend. I always send her my chapters in advance. :)**

**The next chapter is finding costumes, coffee with Tess and the very beginning of the dance, just to make you happy. :)**

**Thank you all for everything! Lots of love!**

**Until next time!**

**~Ami****


	5. Chapter 5

**AAAAAND I'M BACK!**

**How were you guys during my long break from Fanfiction? I missed you guys! :3**

**I made a little (long) treat for you guys! (It's twenty-six pages long on Word.) 0_o**

**I've made a bunch of changes to the story, so GO BACK TO THE VERY BEGINNING OF THE STORY AND READ YOUR WAY BACK UP so that you catch the minor change references in this chapter. Kay? Kay.**

**For all of you asking, yes, Celeste _is _a teddy bear. I just made her human.**

**To Miss Spectacular: Yes, I named the teacher Ms. Segherdal on purpose. (she's the teacher from School's Out Forever) I can't believe you caught that! There are some other teachers from SOF in this chapter, so keep an eye out for them.**

**There's also another person in this chapter that no one ever uses in fics but is mentioned in the series. If you spot him/her, tell me in a review ;)**

**And speaking of that, thanks for all the lovely reviews! :D **

**Review of the week (which takes so much space that I have to fit it in one paragraph): **

**Samurai Oreo: **

**Eeeeeeeeee luffles! I love this story :3 It is so amazing Like seriously i stay up at night thinking about what's going to happen next It is sooooo addictive You really gotta update this MY OPNIONS!: Max: Fang's obviously going to like you. Just go with it, bro. Fang: If you start worrying about if Catch likes you, I'm going to kill you. By the way, why the H #L would Catch be Tess? Nudge: keep being awesomesaucentatious, girl. Iggy: HAHA you crack me up Gazzy: why you no go to college? ! ? ! Angel: LITTLE DEMON YOU JUST WATCH OUT OR IMA KILL YOU Lissa/Brigid: No, you are not even a person. Just Lissa/Brigid. Jeb: &!$#%}! You idiot! Yeah so update Me and my sister fight over the computer so that we can reread this story Yeah that's right I got her hooked on it too By the way update  
and happy birthday BOOM long review like a boss**

**AmiRide: ****… ****Thanks! :D**

**Comment of the week:**** "I'll give you a cookie if you keep Mom busy long enough for me to bake some." -My little sister.**

**REVIEW!**

* * *

**MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX **

"Ha. Funny," I said in a bland voice. What did he mean?

"No, really, Max. You can't go." Jeb still had a huge, horribly infuriating leer on his face. I wanted to slap it off.

"What do you mean?" I inquired politely, gritting my teeth. Next to me, Nudge pummeled her pizza dough and glared at the saltshaker. Jeb had the power to make even the sweetest-tempered of us angry.

"I mean that you're not allowed to go," Jeb said, maddeningly calm. I could feel silent glares radiate off all the other employees in the kitchen and send thick waves of hatred in Jeb's direction, as if hoping to poison him.

"Um, no," I retort. "Who are you to make me?" I loved the little bursts of courage that allowed me to defy Jeb. It felt so, so good.

Jeb made a 'tsk-tsk' noise, which: a) he failed miserably at, and b) made me want to throw one of the many knives lying on the counter at him. "You are not to go to that dance, Maxine. Must I remind you that I am your _father_?" He drew out the word, seeming to relish every second of my growing fury.

The worst part was that I could sort of actually remember my father. Memories aren't supposed to develop until you're four or five, and early ones definitely should stay with you at seventeen, but I could still see flashes of the blond hair that was featured in my butter-colored curls, the blue eyes that used to smile at me so kindly, a solid jaw, a big, cheerful voice, and sometimes I even remembered his big, strong hands, which used to push me on the little swing set in our backyard that Jeb tore down about five seconds after my mother breathed her last.

It was easy to think of someone who died when you were two years old. My heart gave a little tug each time, but it was more like remembering a second cousin who had died or a vague family friend. I let those thoughts wander freely in my cluttered head, but anything that reminded me of my mom was locked tight in a little chest in the corner of my brain (and of my room), and I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to open it. I don't think I even had a key for it.

"You are _not_ my father," I seethed quietly. I could stand all the stuff that Jeb threw at me, but I couldn't take him reminding me of my parents. Raising my voice would cause problems with customers, but I kind of wanted to say _'screw it'_ and scream "F—k you!" to Jeb at the top of my lungs.

"Yes, yes I am," responded Jeb, evidently enjoying my struggling. "Legally, anyways. You know I really want the best for you, Maxine," he simpered, his voice dripping with sickeningly false sympathy, "and the best for you would be to not go to that dance."

"Really, now? And why is that?" I was pleased to see that my voice had regained polite indifference.

He sighed. "I really wish you could go do that dance, Maxine, I really do."

Nudge snorted next to me.

"But there's just so much work to do, you know? You have to"—he pulled a long list out of his pocket—"scrub the floors, clean the grills and appliances, make cookies…" I tuned him out and imagined all the different ways I could kill him. He droned on and on and on, and I only looked up confusedly when I heard Jeb say, "Wash the cat."

"We don't have a cat," I informed him, puzzled.

Dylan emerged from behind him and shoved a scruffy gray thing at my face. "Yeah, we do. We bought him on the way here." I stared at him. "And by the way, try wearing a skirt. You have nice legs, you know."

I stared at him some more. Only a very loud, not very well-disguised snort from Lola, one of the kitchen girls, snapped me back to Jeb's sneering, pointed, ugly little old face.

"So, I'm sorry, Maxine. You'll just go to some other dance."

Dylan and Ari sniggered, and I wondered if they had put their dad up to it.

"Anyways, here's the list. I'll be back after midnight to check on you after picking the boys up from the dance." He smacked it on the counter table. "And I expect you two to win that prize as Prince, by the way," he added, turning to his sons. "It would make Maxine happy and make up for her not going to the dance."

Dylan almost choked from suppressed laughter.

"And the rest of you, get back to work!" Jeb clapped his hands briskly and threw open the door of the kitchen.

"Oh, and good luck, Maxine," he added before stepping out.

The kitchen was so quiet that even the grills seem to be making an effort to remain silent.

"Max," I said quietly, picking up the list. "My name is Max."

Then I slumped down into a barstool and tried not to let any of the other employees see me cry.

* * *

**FANG FANG FANG FANG FANG FANG FANG FANG FANG FANG FANG FANG **

I stared at my phone as I pulled on my cuffed sneakers, the ones that Mom had always tried to throw out. Still no answer from Maximum. I frowned and shook my phone, hoping that maybe that would make a message drop into my inbox.

Obviously, there was no reply when I checked to see whether my magical shaking had worked.

_Fang27: Maximum? What are you going as, again?_

No answer.

"Nick? Where are you going?"

I whirled around. My mom was standing behind me, hands on hips, an apron tied around her waist, a worn-out looking spatula gripped tightly in her hand, and her blond hair flying all over the place.

"I'm going to catch a movie with Angel," I lied smoothly. It wasn't news to me or anyone around me that I could be terribly convincing. In fact, Mom blinked confusedly before opening her mouth to respond.

"You broke up with her," she promptly informed me.

Aaanndd… there went my number-one excuse. Whether she realized it or not, Angel had become my way out whenever I lied about attending a writing workshop or other not-football/what Dad wants me to do-related activities. I cursed myself a thousand times over for forgetting that crucial piece of information.

And for forgetting the fact that this was Anne Walker-Griffiths I was talking to. She could have been an FBI agent. Always noticing everything. Always taking in information. And the fact that she seemed ditzy, forgetful and superficial was extremely misleading. It was the perfect cover-up for her sharp mind.

"Aren't you supposed to be taking Cecie to ballet?" I shot back at her, attempting to catch her off guard.

"I'm so tired that I convinced your dad to take Celeste instead," she admitted, momentarily distracted. She did look frazzled, white-blond curls plastered to her forehead and others tangling themselves in her apron straps.

_Why is she wearing an apron? _I wondered.

"Mom?" I started cautiously. "What are you doing with that spatula?"

She didn't answer, instead looking down.

"You're wearing an apron," I continued, "and you look like you just took down an army of vegetable oil monsters single-handedly."

There was again no answer. Mom stared that the ceiling, her blue eyes looking everywhere but me.

Had she forgotten our arrangement so soon? "Mom!"

She sighed and stared at her spatula. "Fine! I was trying to make cookies, okay?" she admitted.

"What do you need a spatula for, then?"

"Trust me, it's a lot harder than you think," she warned.

"Mom, we agreed on this! No cooking, remember?"

"But Nickyyy," she whined, "It's just cookies!"

"And you're using a spatula," I retorted. She grumbled.

"Fine," I relented, "but don't come crying to me when you burn the house down. And if you do, I won't be there. I have to leave."

Mom made a face at me and tossed her spatula in the air, striking a pose and catching it like the people on the Food Network. She would probably have been more convincing if she had caught the spatula..

I shook my head. "Bye, Mom. I'll be home at five, but if you don't see me, I should be back again at midnight." I slammed the door behind me before she could protest.

Had I mentioned that I was also very good at distracting people? Mom had forgotten all about quizzing me about my whereabouts.

I jogged down the street, getting hotter by the minute. Here in Stream Valley, it felt like summer even when it was snowing somewhere else. I started to regret choosing to wear a black shirt, aware of the fact that by the time I got to Stream Valley's only Starbucks, it would probably be burning from the shining California sun. When I met up with Tess.

The twenty-three butterflies that lived in my stomach swooped down all at once.

"Didn't I say you weren't going to do that anymore?" I muttered to them.

Damn nerves.

Not that I could blame them. It was exciting, the possibility that my dream girl might be right around the corner.

I thought of ways not to make a fool out of myself by assuming she was Maximum, even though I had only one reason to assume so anyways. I made a list of questions to ask her to ensure that she _wa__s_ Maximum. My insides felt jumbled up.

I finally rounded the corner of Dulcie Street, and I spotted Tess drumming her fingers on a table, looking bored, at the open-air Starbucks at the end of the street. She had a pair of sunglasses perched in her brown hair. She caught me staring and waved me over.

"Hey, Nick!" She gestured to the chair in front of her. "What's up?"

"Not much," I replied, running a hand through my hair, sinking into the seat and dropping my bag next to the chair.

"So," she said, leaning forward excitedly and wiggling her eyebrows, "I heard from Carla who heard from Rachel who heard from Shelly who heard from Tally who heard from Kelly who heard from Sarah that Kelia asked you to the Halloween Dance!"

I groan.

"What? You don't like her?" Tess seemed genuinely surprised.

"Which one is Kelia?" I asked for clarification.

"The one who asked you to the dance," Tess said in an _uh-duh_ voice.

"Which one?"

"Aha, so you're popular with the ladies, huh?" Tess wiggled her eyebrows some more.

I tried not to roll my eyes. How did everyone find out about this stuff? "Maybe."

"Kelia is a redhead with hazel eyes," Tess informed me. "She says she's been waiting all year for the opportunity to ask you out."

The one from the front of the library, I recognized. "She has?"

"Yup. She must be so happy!"

"What? Why?"

Tess rolled her eyes. "Because she got you to go to one of the biggest dances of the year with her." Her _uh-duh_ voice is back.

"No, she didn't," I said, confused.

"What? But she said you were going out with her!"

"She did?"

"So she isn't?" Tess sighed and smiles. "I should have known. She's always been a big liar, that one."

I smiled.

"So, you're not going with anyone?"

"Not really," I said, trying to find a category to place Maximum in. Definitely not friends. Not girlfriend either, since I hadn't asked her out yet. Super-best-anonymous-friend-that-I-love? That seemed to fit, but something told me that it was not an official registered category with the Gossip Girls of Stream Valley High High.

"Good," Tess said firmly, placing a hand on my arm. It sent jolts down my spine.

For a moment we stared at each other, and I got the weird feeling she was trying to read my thoughts.

"Let's not talk about the dance anymore," she decided. "What are you doing for your AP English assignment?"

We slipped into conversation, which was a little strained but still more comfortable, and I discretely nudged in several questions that might lead me to finding out if she was Maximum. I didn't know why I feel the urge to find out now so strongly. I was going to find out who she was tonight, after all. I couldn't get used to Tess's voice. Instead of the low, lazy Valley Girl drawl I'd always heard her speak in, her voice was high and excited. It was disorienting.

For some reason, I started to go out of my way to make Tess laugh, trying to ease out of the awkwardness of the conversation. I made as many stupid jokes, idiotic comments, and sly remarks as I could, trying to get that crinkling around her blue eyes that brought on her laugh.

"By the way," Tess cut in at one point, "I like my coffee black, so I ordered some for you too. I hope that's okay."

"It's fine," I said, a smile involuntarily making its way onto my face. "I like mine black too."

* * *

**IGGY IGGY IGGY IGGY IGGY IGGY IGGY IGGY IGGY IGGY IGGY IGGY**

Jeffrey Chase couldn't say that his acting talent was much appreciated at Stream Valley High High. In fact, he couldn't name a single person who wasn't in his drama class or Max who appreciated his ability.

It wasn't easy, memorizing all those sonnets to recite to the love of his life, Angel Goldman. It wasn't easy learning all those lines for the school play. It wasn't easy pestering his mom to get him an agent so that he could become a big-time actor. Well, that last part was easy. The point was, even though acting was hard and no one seemed to care anyways, Jeff still did it. It was thrilling, exhilarating, astounding. He loved it.

And the exhilarating feeling of being on stage was what Jeffrey Chase had to remind himself of every time he heard someone teasing him for being a 'drama geek'. There was no such thing as a 'drama geek'. There were just those smart enough to appreciate acting and the poor, foolish souls who, brain-dead and robbed of all intellect, thought dramatic arts were 'dorky'.

Well, there was one person he could excuse for not loving acting. A person he _had_ to excuse. It did no good to insult goddesses, and to this rule Angel Goldman was no exception.

Every time Jeffrey thought of her luscious, golden curls, her deep turquoise eyes, and her bright, beautiful smile, his stomach swooped so fast he felt like he had just been run over by a truck. But the problem was that that truck was driven by Nick Griffiths, Angel's boyfriend, and that was the tiny detail that kept him from walking up to Angel and wowing her with his stupendous talent. So now, every time he thought of Nick and Angel's breakup, his heart started doing the complicated tap-dancing routine that Jeff had once had to learn for _Oliver!_

It was the thought of him and Angel together that carried Jeff through his boring, blah breakfast with his boring, blah, non-actor brother James, his newspaper-reading dad, and his omelet-flipping mom. By the time he was out of the house, he felt like someone had injected helium into his Adidases.

Jeff burst through the metal doors of the Jeb Batchelder Bakery-Cafe's kitchen. Why they called it that, he had no idea. It was more like a diner, with its checkered floor, booths, and barstools. He'd liked it much better in Aunt Val's day, when it had been 'The Hot Spot'. Now he just called it the Jerk Bitchelder Bastard-Crappery.

As much as he hated the place now, he'd always felt welcome in the kitchen of the crappery. Jeff was always greeted with laughter, applause, and smiles. It made him feel warm to know that he was appreciated here. The kitchen was always alive with discussion, laughter, clatters, creaks, rumbles and yells. Despite Jeb Batchelder's efforts, he couldn't take the happiness away from this little safe haven.

But today, as he dramatically proclaimed, "Yello!" he was met with a surge of angry energy. On Halloween Day, it felt as if some evil, angry spirit had settled over the kitchen. From the words he could make out from angry mutters—"pay raise," "horrible," quitting,"—he could infer that they were talking about none other than Jeb Batchelder himself.

"What's wrong, Lola?" He asked one of the pretty serving girls.

"Stupid Jeb," she answered, her eyes narrowed murderously at her bread dough. "Tossing Max around like that. Treating us like this. Dickwad. He is e_l diablo _himself." She kneaded the dough vigorously.

"O-o-okay," said Jeff, backing away. "Now it all makes sense."

That was sarcasm, by the way.

He raked his hands through his hair confusedly, looking for Max. What had happened?

He spotted her at the stove, glaring at her pancakes and flipping them angrily. Her pretty friend, Tiffany-Krystal something-or-other, was tossing pasta in delicious-looking spicy sauce. It didn't matter to him that they'd known each other since he was fifteen. He still didn't bother learning her name properly.

Jeff made his way through the kitchen, nearly colliding with Katie, the girl who made the cakes. "Hi," he said brightly to Max, ignoring Tiffany. "What's going on?"

"Jeb says I can't go to the dance," she said glumly, slamming the pan on the stove and spraying her finger with scalding pancake dough.

"Ow!" She sucked on her finger. "That was stupid."

"So, Jeb says you can't go," Jeff repeated. "So what?"

"What do you mean, 'so what?' So I can't go, that's what!"

"Hey, Tiffany?" Jeff never thought he'd actually stoop low enough to ask Tiffany something.

It wasn't that he didn't like her. Well, he didn't. But it was more of a . . . _rivalry_, going on right under Max's nose. Who Max liked better. Who could be a better friend to her. He had been Max's best friend since they were six, but Tiffany had helped Max more with her rough spots with Jeb. It wouldn't have been so hostile if Tiffany had had a few drawbacks; if she had a habit of saying nasty things without meaning to, if she were annoyingly girly like Tessa Fray. But the problem with Tiffany was that she didn't seem to have _anything_ wrong with her. She was beautiful, funny, smart, hardworking, _and _she could cook. She even managed to be girly without being annoying, which Jeff thought in itself was extremely annoying. She knew when to be comforting. She knew when to laugh. She knew exactly the right time for a reassuring or encouraging smile. As much as Jeff prided himself for his extensive knowledge of social behavior, he couldn't match his ability to Tiffany's. It made him feel insecure and insignificant. He was afraid that one day, Tiffany would flash one smile too many and Max would take off happily arm in arm with one best friend, leaving the other forgotten in the dust.

On top of all of that, Tiffany wasn't scared of anything. She kept encouraging Max to stand up to Jeb, and Jeb himself had a sort of grudging respect for her. As much as Jeff liked to think that he was pretty brave, Jeb Batchelder scared the hell out of him.

It wasn't surprising that as Tiffany stared at him, still waiting for his question, Jeff acknowledged that Tiffany-Krystal something-or-other wasn't on his list of favorite people.

"What's your last name?" he asked, forgetting his other question out of sheer curiosity.

"Krystal," she said, taken aback. She stared at him. "Why?"

"But I thought your name was Tiffany-Krystal!" He drew a hyphen in the air with his finger.

"No," she said, giving him a weird look, and went back to tossing her pasta.

"Wait, Tiffany." Jeff remembered his question. "What time does Jeb do his routine checks?"

"At—" Tiffany counted on her fingers "— five-thirty, seven-thirty, and half past midnight."

"Right," Jeff said, chewing his lip. "So, it's eleven-thirty now. If we leave now, we have five and a half hours to—"

"Find Max a costume," Tiffany said, catching on. "And then we have to run back here for Jeb's arrival at five-thirty—"

"Which then gives us an hour to get Max all dolled up before Jeb gets back here at seven-thirty and cart her to the dance afterwards, where she can stay for four hours before—"

"Jeb comes back to check on her at half past midnight, where he will find her still working her butt off." Tiffany grinned. "Perfect." She went to high-five Jeff, then remembered that she didn't like him and tried to pass it off as raking her hand through her curly hair.

"Guys," Max interrupted, shaking her head. "I think you're missing something here. _I'm not allowed to go._"

They both turned to her.

"So?" Tiffany said.

"Your point?" Jeff asked, about to lean against the stove before he remembered that stoves are hot.

"I'm. Not. Allowed. To. Go," Max repeated, looking at both of them incredulously.

"So?" Jeff said, staring at her like she'd sprouted horns.

"When has that ever stopped you?" Tiffany added, cocking her head and looking at Max as if seeing her sideways would provide the answer to why Max was being such a wuss.

Max looked from Jeff to Tiffany and back again, searching their faces. Then she broke out into a wide grin.

"Let's do it," she said. "I'm loving this plan."

* * *

**TESS TESS TESS TESS TESS TESS TESS TESS TESS TESS TESS TESS**

Tessa Fray was being eaten alive by butterflies.

She felt like a prizewinner as she felt the glares of every other girl in the vicinity bounce off her back. If anyone had told her yesterday that in just twenty-four hours, she would be having coffee with her six-year crush, Nick Griffiths, quarterback and student body president, she would have laughed outright at them. Yet here she was, in what every Stream Valley High teen girl would define as the top, ultimate position of power, sitting across from him and sipping coffee and talking about what a horrible teacher Mr. Pruitt was.

"I know, right? He's such a pedophile! He was completely staring down Lissa's shirt the other day."

Nick made a face.

"What? You don't like Lissa?" Tess gave an involuntary smile. Nick wasn't like the other boys who constantly stared down Lissa's too-tight shirts to peek at her somewhat flat chest, but she had always thought that he got along fairly well with Lissa.

She couldn't really be surprised, though, not with everything else she'd learned about her secret crush this morning. Up until then, she'd always thought of Nick as the strong-and-silent cookie cutter guy, albeit much handsomer than most, and it was a shock to discover that he was genuinely _cute_. He kept slipping up and showing little signs of how adorable he was. He was concerned about the heat of her coffee, he kept making hilarious, stupid jokes, and every once in a while, like right now, he would make a face so cute Tess wanted to lean over and pinch his cheeks.

"Not really," he admitted sheepishly. He looked like he was five and his mom had just caught him pulling the cat's tail. "You can't tell anyone this, but I think she's kind of—slutty." He stumbled over the word and then said it too quickly, as if he didn't like speaking badly of anyone. Tess suppressed a laugh.

"Yeah," she agreed. She couldn't disagree, because the day before, Lissa had shown up to school in a tight, longish shirt with drawn breasts on it. And as if that hadn't been enough, she had chosen to skip wearing pants, too. Her boy shorts were probably shorter than normal underwear, and she kept throwing flirtatious winks at the teachers—guy or girl—who looked as if they were going to report her. And once, when Tess had walked by a dark, seemingly empty classroom, she had spotted what looked suspiciously like Lissa's legs wrapped around Mr. Lazzara's waist. It explained why airhead Lissa had such a high Social Studies average, a question that had been bothering Tess for a while now, but she had gone home mentally scarred for life. Sometimes she wondered why she was friends with people like Lissa.

The thing was, she wasn't really friends with them. Well, yes, she was, but in the snapshot of every popular group, she was always the girl on the side, the one who was part of the group but not in the center. She was never the 'It' girl, or Angel at Stream Valley High High, the gorgeous, powerful one right in the middle, or one of the sidekicks, the ones clinging to the 'It' girl's arms and giggling at her every word; Brigid and Lissa, at her school. She was just 'that' girl, the one who had to fight for her spot in the clique, the one that no one particularly cared that much for but that they kept around, because one of the principal rules of popularity was that every popular group had its 'that' girl.

_If only they could see where their 'that' girl is now_, she thought smugly. She smiled at Nick, just to get the pleasure of knowing that she was one of the few people at whom he would smile back. And he did.

She was also noticing things like the fact that he looked handsomer, manlier up close as well as cute. His eyes were more beautiful. His arms looked stronger. His hair was shinier, his smile more breathtaking. She couldn't pick him apart; the whole was what made him irresistible.

They'd been talking for about an hour. She recognized that the conversation was a bit strained, a bit awkward, but she felt entirely at ease. They'd chatted about everything, and even with what she'd discovered about him, she still acknowledged that she didn't know him very well. And even knowing that, she still could tell that something was different about him today. Normally, questions like where Tess wanted to go to college or whether she had brothers would be commonplace out of a high school senior's mouth (a very cute mouth, too), but the way he seemed to analyze her answers, which gave her insight to the spinning and whirling gears of his brain, gave Tess the feeling that Nick was waiting for one specific answer that would make everything click into place in his head and finally give him the solution to whatever he was asking himself.

Just as Tess was about to inquire about it, she saw a flash of red in her peripheral vision. She frowned and turned her head slightly to the side to see Lissa staring unabashedly at their table, her brow knit in obvious confusion.

Tess sighed. She should have known that this was too good to last. What was Lissa going to do? Threaten Tess? March over and kiss Nick straightforwardly? Lissa had been after Nick for ages, and she definitely wasn't going to let Tess get in her way. Before today, the thought would have scared her—not only being on bad terms with Lissa, but having her crush stolen away from her _again_—but today Tess just grinned, because she knew that Nick didn't like Lissa anyways.

Nick cocked his head and smiled at Tess. "Why are you smiling?"

"Just because," she answered, her smile widening.

Nick grinned, as if savoring an inside joke. Tess could see that the gears of his brain were whirling again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lissa's eyes widen at Nick's rare smile, something she'd probably never seen before, and Tess felt oh-so-smug at being able to make Nick Griffiths smile and Lissa Harper jealous at the same time.

"Hey, why did the plane crash?" she said, feeling giddy and slightly drunk on happiness.

"What?" He looked at her, as if trying to make sure that he'd heard what she'd said right.

"Why did the plane crash?" she repeated, sitting on the edge of her chair.

"Um, I don't know. Why?"

"Because the pilot was a tomato!" Tess collapsed into giggles at her stupid joke, and Nick, after staring at her blankly for a few seconds, cracked a smile.

"You're so weird," he said, rolling his eyes.

"That's why you love me!" she singsonged. He laughed.

Lissa whipped out her phone and typed something quickly, stealing occasional glances in their direction. Tess froze.

Because if she wasn't frightened of Lissa's reaction to her being with Nick, she was _extremely _scared of what Angel would do if she found out.

"So," Nick started. "Are you going to the Homecoming—"

Tess hushed him with a frightened look. "Quick," she muttered, ignoring the sudden giddiness she felt, being able to guess what he was going to say next, "look like you'd rather be anywhere than here listening to me."

"Why—"

"Just do it." Tess felt a twinge of sadness at having to end their afternoon like this.

Nick hoisted a look of pure pain on his face, as if someone were singing "Friday" in his ear.

Tess strained against the giggles that were rising in her throat.

"And then, Carla was so, like, totally jelly of Angel? I mean, seriously? She is like, so annoying?" She made sure her void was loud enough to reach Lissa's elfin ears, even though the she wasn't sure Lissa would buy it. The voice Tess was using sounded overly nasal and awfully annoying even to her own ears, straining against her happiness.

Thankfully, there was a reason that Lissa had a D average in every class except Social Studies and Art. She perked up, her gossip monitor probably going into overdrive, and glanced in their direction. When she saw Nick's face, she smirked and snapped her phone shut, leaving her message half-finished.

_Nice one, Tess, _she congratulated herself.

"Oh, now you have to get up and leave," Tess said desolately under her breath as she saw Lissa's face scrunch up the way it did when she was trying to do fractions in math class. "She's trying to figure out why you're still here."

She wanted to do a happy dance when she saw that Nick looked as disappointed as she felt. "Why?"

Tess sighed. "Because bad things could happen. Very bad things. To both of us." Good Lord, this was taking way too long.

"What kind of things?" Nick's jaw was set stubbornly. Sweet Jesus! Why couldn't he just do what she told him to?

_Bad Angel things_, she thought. _You never becoming valedictorian_; _Me never having friends again; Being called a slut and man whore..._Tess counted several 'things' off on her mental fingers, but to Nick she just sighed and said, "I, as a girl, know things you have no idea of. Like the high school gossip food chain."

"Is that a crack at my intelligence?" Nick smirked. Oh Lord, that smirk made her faint in the head.

"No, it's a fact. Now make up some lame-ass excuse to leave." She loved how sassy she was sounding. Like, _Uh-uh-uh-mmm, girl. Oh, snap! _She wanted to put her hand on her hip and snap her fingers from side to side.

He grinned at her and pulled a face. "Sorry, Tessa. I, uh, have to help my mom with something. Bye." His voice was so loud, she felt like her dead grandmother must have been able to hear it.

"When I said make a lame-ass excuse, I didn't mean it had to be _that_ dumb," Tess muttered as he bent over to pick up his bag.

"Shut up." Tess could hear the smile in his voice. "See you at the dance?"

"Definitely." It was all she could do not to scream, jump up and down, and holler, "NICKGRIFFITHSJUSTALMOSTFNICKINGASKEDMETOHOMECOMIN G!" to anyone who would listen.

_Whoah, there, girl. Steady now. _Tess tried to calm herself down as she watched her crush walk away and almost immediately get ambushed by an excited Lissa, but it was no use; as butterflies pervaded her stomach, Tessa Fray, for the first time in ages, felt so happy that not even the fact that Nick would probably never think of her as more than a friend could bring her down.

* * *

**NUDGE NUDGE NUDGE NUDGE NUDGE NUDGE NUDGE NUDGE NUDGE NUDGE NUDGE NUDGE **

There were a few things you should know about Tiffany Krystal.

1) Only Max called her Nudge. To the normal world (and Jeffrey Chase), she was Tiffany.

2) She was girly in every sense of the word.

3) She loved caramel so much that for her fourteenth birthday, she had exclusively specified caramel as a present from anyone who came to her party.

4) She hated her boss, Jeb Batchelder, with a burning, sizzling, red-hot passion, a fervor almost as ardent as her love for Justin Timberlake.

5) Her favorite color was butter yellow.

6) She loved her curly hair and brown eyes, but wished about ten times a day that she were taller (she was about five short feet and short inches).

7) She _hated_ Halloween stores.

It was just the blood and the gore and the violence that annoyed her. She could defend herself well in a fight and was a pro at arm-wrestling and 'mercy', but the fact that people _willingly_ chose to be something horrible and deadly for the one day of the year that they could be anything they wanted…well, it just made Nudge shudder.

Andi's Halloween Emporium was better than most, if 'better' was used in the worst possible way. There weren't any Grim Reaper costumes, but instead there were 'bad angel of death' costumes. It was a girly, preppy, slutty place that wouldn't have been Nudge's first choice. In fact, it _wasn't _Nudge's first choice. They'd been costume-hunting for about five hours. But all the other stores' costumes were long gone, and Andi's was one of the only ones left.

She felt bad for Max, who wanted to look perfect that night. _Perfect_ definitely wasn't a word she would use to describe Andi's. It wasn't that great to start with, but what with all of the more conservative costumes snatched off the shelves weeks ago, and the fact that they chose to wait until Halloween day to choose a costume, she, Max, and Jeffrey were left browsing through seemingly endless racks of costumes, each more uncomfortable-looking and revealing than the last.

She sighed as a busty girl with black hair and almost no clothes threw her a wink, nodding at the revealing costume Nudge was holding up. This was another thing that annoyed her about Andi's. It was always populated with sluts, and since she was there too, they thought that she was one of them as well. The whole afternoon, as they'd browed through the racks, they had been accompanied by a few slutty-looking girls who gave her and Max approving looks. There were also a few stern-looking moms who gave them disapproving looks, obviously also thinking they were here with the group of sluts, and their tight buns and severe expressions got Nudge wondering what the heck they were doing there if they disapproved of it so much. The few clueless kids who wandered the store kept throwing puzzled glances at Jeffrey, who looked ridiculously out of place in a store entirely designed for people like Angel Goldman, the snooty rich girl who never tipped Nudge at the café.

"This one?" Jeffrey held a short black spandex dress, fuzzy cat ears, and black boots with heels that could have been used to cut through metal at arm's length, trying to stay as far away from the ensemble as possible.

Nudge made a face. "Yuck. She'd never wear that, anyways."

Looking relieved, he stuck it back on the hanger and set off on a new search for a costume.

"This?" Nudge held up a beautiful kaleidoscope dress, which would have been perfect if it hadn't been the size of a shirt.

Jeffrey's back was to her and his blond hair was sticking up all over the place. It wasn't the first time that Nudge caught herself thinking that if he were less annoying, Jeffrey would be cute. Then she immediately reprimanded herself.

Nudge walked up to him to find him wiggling his fingers and wagging his eyebrows at a little girl that he had caught staring at him. The girl ran off with a scared look behind her, probably to warn her mom that there was a pedophile rapist between the animal-slut rack and the monster-slut rack.

Nudge sighed. "Was that really necessary?"

He gave her a look, like, _what, me? _"It's rude to stare," he complained.

Nudge rolled her eyes. Jeffrey Chase was the most immature human being she had ever encountered. Turning away from him, she called out, "How's it going in there, Max?"

"Is it supposed to fit this way?" came a muffled reply from the dressing room.

"Let's see it," Jeff encouraged her, dropping a costume loudly and earning a glare from the girl at the counter.

Max emerged from the little cabin in a tight zip-up faux-leather bodysuit, holding a plastic gun and looking extremely uncomfortable. Her distaste was clear on her face, and even though anyone in this store would agree that she was totally killing the Bond Babe look, Nudge would never let her go out in public wearing something like that. They wanted Fang to think that Max was classy and beautiful, not a grade-A slut in who'd somehow learned how to operate a zipper.

Max clawed at the plunging neckline of her suit, trying to bring the zipper up to appropriate height, and Nudge instinctively did the same with her own plain white T-shirt, acting on reflex and not really knowing why.

"Kind of revealing," she said, slapping her hand so it would stop mutilating her neckline. "We'll bring you something else." Nudge had to repress a giggle at Max's look of immense relief before she slipped back behind the curtain.

Nudge knew she had ways to go before finding a good costume, so she dived back into the sea of costumes, wrinkling her nose at a leotard and stilettos that were supposed to somehow represent a pilgrim.

"This?" Nudge tapped Jeffrey on the shoulder and held up the hippie costume that she'd plucked off the oldie-slut rack.

"Kind of defeats the purpose of being a hippie, doesn't it?" he commented, cocking his head to inspect it. "I wasn't aware that hippies were supposed to wear shorts that don't cover their butts."

Nudge's loud snort of laughter earned her an extremely frosty look from the girl at the counter. She glared defiantly back at her, and their staring contest endured until she was interrupted buy something lacy, dusty and white shoved under her nose by Jeffrey.

"What about this?"

Nudge turned around, annoyed that her showdown with the counter girl had been broken off so abruptly. "What about what?" She couldn't see any leather, heels, or short stuff, so she had no idea what Jeffrey was talking about.

"This." Jeffrey waved the musty white thing around, and Nudge strained against the sneeze that was rising in her throat.

Snatching it out of his hand, she examined it, brushing off dust bunnies that revealed a delicate white mask, patterned with swirls and loops of lace that form elegant designs. Her glare melted.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, the fine fabric slipping under her fingers like silk. "What does it come with?" Nudge silently prayed that it wasn't some messed-up angel costume that left too little to the imagination.

"That's it," Jeffrey said, scratching his head. "It doesn't come with a costume."

"Well, that's…annoying." Nudge sighed, leaning back against a rack. There were a few other choice words she could have used, but she had a feeling that turning the girl behind the counter the color of a tomato would not be a good idea.

"Do you guys have anything yet?" Max's impatient voice rang across the aisle, causing several middle-aged woman to glare at them. _Why are you yelling? No yelling in the library! I mean, no yelling in the slutty costume store!_

Nudge looked at the mask in her hand, and suddenly she had an idea so blatantly obvious she almost laughed out loud. "Yeah. You can get dressed now. We're leaving."

"Leaving?!" Jeffrey exclaimed. "But we haven't found a costume yet! Max needs to be perfect tonight!" He threw his hands up to the sky dramatically, and Nudge rolled her eyes.

"Wait, we don't have a costume?" said Max's muffled voice.

Nudge glanced at Jeffrey pleadingly. "Jeffrey?"

"Yeah?"

"Please shut up."

Jeffrey made a harrumphing noise.

"And we do have a costume," she called to Max. "But hurry up."

Jeffrey raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh yeah? And what's this brilliant idea?"

"My old prom dress," she said simply, before taking the lacy mask to the counter.

"Yes?" said the slightly nasal voice of the counter girl, who was scowling disapprovingly at Nudge.

"We're taking this, please."

The girl at the counter looked down, her long, lustrous black hair swinging in front of her eyes. "That's—that's not for sale." She seemed surprised for a second, and then her scowl was back, robbing her face of what natural beauty it had.

"Yes, it is. I found it in the rack," Nudge invented, waving her hand vaguely behind her. She hoped the girl would buy it.

She did—but only for a second. "It's not in the rack," the girl said, becoming aware that she should be suspicious.

"Please," Nudge pleaded, searching the girl's face for any sign of giving in. "This is really important."

"No." The girl's eyes narrowed, but she faltered as Nudge pulled a twenty-dollar bill from her pocket-which was a lot for a mask that, at first glance, seemed barely worth five.

"It's for Halloween!" Nudge informed her, trying to wave the bill around without being too conspicuous about it.

"No _duh_," the girl said, her eyes following the money. "And it's not for sale."

"Yes it is," Nudge protested, laying the bill down on the table and edging it slightly towards the counter girl with her long fingers.

The girl eyed the money for a second, then scowled. "Fine." She grabbed the bill and stuffed it in her pocket. "It's not in the inventory," she snapped at Nudge's surprised stare, "so I can keep the money. One word to my boss and you're going to wish you had kept your mouth shut."

Nudge, taken aback, had been about to say something extremely rude but stopped herself before the girl could take the mask away. Instead, she plastered a sweet smile on her face and said, "Oh, don't worry, I won't. Thank you so much."

Max came stumbling out of the dressing room, tripping on her own feet as usual. As Nudge led Max and Jeffrey out the door, Jeffrey leaned in close to her.

"She's such a bitch," he muttered. "Thank you, honey!" he called to the girl in a high-pitched voice. "By the way, I hate your shirt."

Then he strolled out the door.

The girl behind the counter gaped at him like a fish, still trying to process what had happened, and Max and Nudge gave each other "the look" and hurried to catch up to him.

"What was that?" Max questioned, shaking her head at Jeffrey.

"Hush, hush, child." He turned his nose towards the sky and marched forward flamboyantly.

Nudge stared at his back, wondering how he had ever managed to make friends.

The rev of an engine snapped Nudge's attention back from Jeffrey's social life, and she and Max hurried forward before stopping in front of a building that had seen better days.

"Jeffrey," Nudge said, turning towards him. "What time does the dance start, again?"

"Eight," he said.

Nudge steadied herself. She'd always thought that she'd never stoop low enough to ask for a favor from Jeff, but she reminded herself that they'd already worked out the plan before

"Could you pick us up from here in half an hour?"

Jeffrey hesitated. "For Max? Yes. For you? Could I? Probably. Will I? Probably n—" He stopped himself, and then scowled as he remembered their plan. "Fine."

"Thank you." Nudge knew very well that he had been about to refuse.

"Your costume better be absolutely fabulous, girl," he warned, before disappearing around the corner.

"So, where's the costume?" Max said after rolling her eyes at her friend, shaking back her hair. Her long strides were worth two of Nudge's.

"At my house," Nudge said, hurrying to match her pace to Max's. "It's gorgeous, you'll love it."

"The costume or your house?"

Nudge gave a little chuckle. "Definitely the costume."

If there were one place Nudge could choose to live, her apartment definitely wouldn't be it. It had sounded fine when she had bought it: a flat with a bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, and a sitting room. But the brochures and ads somehow had forgotten to mention the peeling paint, the ugly checkered floor of the kitchen that years of dust and dirt had turned completely black, the AC that didn't work, the broken heater, and the many roommates: about a million dust bunnies and a few hundred bugs, not to mention the mouse that lived in the wall. As she and Max climbed up the musty stairs, she remembered first moving in here. She'd been horrified at first, but over time, the intoxicating victory of being free, of having her own place that was all _hers_, had won out over the initial disgust she had felt when moving in. In fact, Nudge had gotten so used to her little run-down flat that she'd almost forgotten what it must be like to see it from a newcomer's eyes. She'd grown accustomed to the creaking floorboards, to the doors that never quite shut, to the grime on the windows that refused to yield. Shock didn't come naturally to her anymore when she walked past the room where she did her work and saw the huge heaps of her junk—pictures, boxes, old clothes, old essays, awards—piled up on the couch. It just wasn't a surprise to her anymore, and once you had caught Nudge once, you wouldn't catch her surprised at the same thing again.

But as she saw Max's shocked face as Nudge flung the door open, suddenly she felt like she was seeing it for the first time all over again. Her self-consciousness about the lack of a dishwasher or washing machine, the odd, slanted stucco ceiling, the smell of cigarette smoke from past residents that hung around the room and clung to the curtains, so thick it was almost tangible, re-emerged from where it had been hiding. She could feel her cheeks heating up as all the old memories came rushing back. Her lip involuntarily curved up into the grimace that she hadn't even bothered to hide when she was first shown her new residence. Her features pulled and twisted into a look of disgust, as if Max's arrival had suddenly worsened her living conditions, and wanted to laugh at herself. Why should Max, who was a servant in her own home, feel sorry for her? At least Nudge was free. At least she didn't have to wait on an old greasy widower and his brats. But that didn't stop her from thinking that if Max were a servant in her home, at least the home she served in was big and comfortable; Max Ride, who had never bothered to mask her emotions and definitely wasn't going to start now, had never seen anything like 177, Portcale Street, and her look of sad pity confirmed it.

In the span of about three seconds, Nudge had turned from dizzyingly happy to peeved and ashamed, and she mentally slapped herself for being such a pussy. So what if she leaved in a craphouse? Who cared? It was no big deal. Shaking her head once or twice to clear it, she grabbed a long silver box off the top of a pile of boxes on the couch and handed it to Max, who was gaping at the giant hole near the floor in the ugly neon walls.

"Here. Go try this on." Nudge showed her to her tiny bathroom and busied herself with cleaning the silvery mask until it looked new. Well, not exactly _new_. The mask had sort of an old charm to it, a enchanting glow that suggested it might have been used at a masquerade ball by a Southern belle long ago, or at one of Venice's beautiful costume festivals. She hummed and twirled around, her skirt fanning out, her curls swishing, and her

After what seemed like ages, Max stepped out of the bathroom. "So?" She turned in a circle, looking at the dress she was wearing admiringly.

"You look amazing," Nudge said, her face shining with pride at the one beautiful thing she owned. The dress had had a train when she had worn it—a beautiful white trail that had been the thing that had ultimately convinced Nudge to buy it. But on Max's tall figure, the hem barely brushed the floor, and it was easier to appreciate how creamy and tan the dress made Max's skin look, just as it had made complimented Nudge's dark skin. The fact that the dress was not quite as long as it had been on Nudge drew attention to Max's curves and accentuated her dark hair. It was silky-smooth, white, and strapless, and it was elegantly draped in formfitting layers until the waist, where it flowed uninterrupted until it covered Max's feet. It wasn't bulky, poufy, scratchy, crinkly, or too tight—it was Goldilocks's last bowl of porridge, the last bed, the last cup of tea . . . _perfect_.

"This is beautiful," Max said happily, fingering the soft fabric of the dress at her leg. "Where did you get it?"

"It was my prom dress," Nudge explained. She smiled, vaguely recalling the dizzying excitement of floating down the crystal steps on the arm of the cutest boy she'd ever seen.

"Wow." Max, who was already a fresh little beauty with her lustrous hair, heart-shaped face, and bold, bright smile, was literally glowing. "I love it," she exclaimed, "Thank you so much. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Nah, it was nothing," Nudge said, waving her hand dismissively. Max ran back into the bathroom and Nudge heard the sound of fabric hitting the tile floor as Max changed back into her own clothes.

Nudge was not expecting Max to look crestfallen when she came back out of the bathroom.

"It's not a costume," she moaned. "What am I going to do?"

Nudge slapped her forehead. Where was that mask? She plucked it off the couch and threw it at Max's face. "Is now!" She clapped her hands and twirled around excitedly.

Max shook her head, grinning.

"_You—can—be! Whatever you wanna be! Oh, yeah! You—can—be!_" Nudge sang, returning the grin.

Suddenly, Max's fingers tensed, letting the mask slip through them. Her face crisped. Her facial expression shut down, became neutral, closed off, but extremely painful. Nudge had seen that expression before. She'd seen it on Max's face plenty of times before, more often when she was younger, less frequently now that she was older and had developed and perfected a fake happy face. Max was thinking about her past.

Almost instantly, though, her face brightened as if someone had flicked a light bulb on in her head.

"That's it," she breathed, looking happy. Nudge decided not to question what 'it' was. She'd grown accustomed to Max's sudden outbursts and had learned not to ask about them.

"Thank you so, so much, Nudge!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around her. Nudge rolled her eyes at the nickname, but patted her back and succumbed to the thrill of knowing that they were doing something:

a) girly

b) fun

c) that they weren't supposed to be doing

d) despite what Jeb had said.

Yup, it met all of the criteria for what Nudge defined as 'exciting.'

* * *

**MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX**

I really liked lists. There were lists tacked up all over my room, lists spilling haphazardly out of my backpack, and lists scattered around my brain. There were lists for everything. For example, a list of the events of the day, it would probably be written:

1) Jeb says, "don't go to the dance"

2) I don't listen

3) We look for costumes

4) I decide to go as Cinderella.

A more detailed list might say:

6:00 AM: I wake up (I'm supposed to wake up at 5 so I can clean early and make breakfast)

6:30 AM: Instead of cleaning, I finish one of my essays

7:00 AM: Dylan throws up because no one made him breakfast

7:15-7:30 AM : Jeb yells

7:30 AM: Ari screws up in some way

7:30-7:56 AM: Jeb yells some more

7:57: Jeb realizes we're late to the café

7:57:01 AM: Jeb realizes my shift doesn't start until 8:30

7:58 AM: Jeb decides that the perfect punishment for me (since apparently, I'm to blame) is to send me to work early.

11: 00 AM: Jeb comes back to the bakery to tell me not to go to the dance

11:00AM: I cry a little and act like a wuss and feel sorry for myself

11:30 AM: I am still being a weenie

11:30 AM: I decide to go the dance anyways

11:45 AM-5:00 PM: We look for costumes

5:10 PM: I decided to go as Cinderella

5:10:10 PM: Now.

Or, for example, if I had to make a list of things that made me laugh, it would be:

- Jeb's face

- Dylan's face

- Ari's face

- Angel's face when I poured coffee over her head

- Jeb's face when he finds out that I didn't listen to him

A list of things that _didn't _make me laugh would include:

-Russian history

-Jeb's reaction to finding out that I didn't listen to him

And if I were to make a list of all the things I wouldn't give up for anything in the world, it would look something like this:

-Food

-Fang

-Grimm's Fairy Tales, 50th anniversary edition

-Books

-Boring necessities like clothes and stuff

-Humor

-Jeff

-Nudge

I was especially grateful for my friends today, after their loyalty and genius planning. They hadn't _had_ to formulate a plan to get me to the dance. They hadn't _had _to go all the way through with it.

But they had, and it gave me the warm and fuzzies to know that they'd done it anyways.

Run-down of the evening: it was

awesome

thrilling

fun

"Fun," for me, constituted of anything Jeb had said not to do, and Jeb had told me not to

1) Leave my shift

2) go to the dance.

And guess what? I was doing both of those things. And it felt _good_.

It had been one thing finding a plan. It had been another finding a costume. A lot of the costumes stores were jam-packed with:

1) disgusting costumes

2) people who had decided to wait until two hours before trick-or-treating to find a costume

3) people who hadn't thought about going trick-or-treating (or to Stream Valley High High's Halloween Dance) at all until very recently.

I placed myself in the third category, and unfortunately, those in the third category didn't have a wide selection of costumes. It was the choice between:

a) a severed head costume

b) a 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' costume (read: leotard and stilettos)

c) going naked.

And because I am _sane_, I didn't choose either of them. But where did that leave me? Without a costume.

Luckily, Nudge was one of the best, smartest, awesomest people on the planet, and she had just the thing. Her old prom dress fit like a beautiful, amazing glove.

I didn't know what to think of Nudge's apartment. At first I'd wanted to laugh and comment on how nice the place was sarcastically, just as Nudge and I had always treated each other. But then I thought that would have been insensitive, which naturally made me want to give her consolation, which I then realized would be just as insensitive. So I decided to ignore it and pretended looked at it for what it was: just an apartment.

I still wanted to slap Jeb upside the head for not paying Nudge more.

Now it was five-twenty. We had ten minutes to get back to the café and pretend I'd been there the whole time, which wasn't going to happen if Jeff didn't hurry up.

Nudge and I had been talking about little stuff, fun stuff. About her boyfriend, Sloan, about Fang, about how much we both hated Jeb. You know, that kind of fun stuff.

When Jeff's silver car pulled up in the street, it was exactly 5: 22.

"Hop in, ladies!" He honked his horn loudly, probably just for the fun of it.

A window went up and an old lady with curlers in her hair, about some five stories up from Nudge's apartment yelled, "_Ey_! Some of us are trying get work done, here!" in heavily accented English, then slammed the window shut.

"Oh, yeah?" Jeff shouted back, "Well some of us are humans and just wanna have fun! So nyaa!" He rolled his window back up.

Nudge snorted beside me. "Senora Llerra."

I rolled my eyes. "Jeffrey Chase."

I decided Jeff's antics could slide this time.

I not-so-gracefully stumbled into the backseat of Jeff's car, followed by a much more poised Nudge, who then shoved a large white bag in my face.

A few minutes of awkward silence ensued. Jeff was putting all of his effort into driving like a maniac, and Nudge and I were silent. I couldn't see her face very well. Nudge was looking out the window, a hand picturesquely supporting her delicate chin, an elbow placed on the sill of the car's window. It had never made me sad to see Nudge before, but today I wondered if I'd ever manage to be as graceful or girly or genuinely likeable as she was. Nudge and Angel had more in common than they'd think; both of them were beautiful, confident, and elegant. And right now, though Nudge had always made me feel just as radiant as she was in her presence, she and Angel shared the talent of making me feel like utter crap.

What if Fang was looking for the kind of qualities that people like Star Swift, Kate Strong, Angel Goldman and Tiffany Monique Krystal possessed? Girliness, elegancy, tact, and delicacy? While I might be a Cinderella, I wasn't pretty or wonderful, I didn't have an angel's voice, and I definitely didn't have mice doing my laundry. If Fang was looking for a Cinderella—well, he would be getting a headstrong, stubborn, uncooperative one.

Not that he wouldn't be getting a Cinderella. Good old Cindy seemed to be popping up a lot in my life lately. She had already imposed her weighing presence on my everyday life, my AP English assignment, and now she was elbowing her way into my costume, too. Nudge's beautiful prom dress was a princess dress if I'd ever seen one, which didn't surprise me—Nudge lived and breathed princess. I threw a sideways glance at her. I'd always had the feeling Nudge considered herself the eleventh Disney Princess, the one whose life hadn't been made into a movie yet.

It wasn't as if I'd _invited_ Cinderella into my life—she just kind of barged in and took over, which you wouldn't really expect from a cute little blonde who let herself get pushed around by her stepmother and stepsisters. But then again, who would suspect Angel Goldman was so evil either? I think it was times like these where Cinderella liked to give a little nudge, as if to remind me, "_hey. You haven't gotten your happy ending yet. I still own you."_ Her manifestation into my costume was just another one of these little pushes. "_You—can—be! Whatever you wanna be! Oh, yeah! You—can—be!_" Cindy sang from her eternal perch on my shoulder, taunting me.

Every time I heard that song, I felt like crying. It was a good thing I didn't hear it often. I mean, it wasn't as if I had told Nudge that my mom had liked to sing it to me before bed. And it wasn't as if I'd suspected that Nudge knew the song. It was really old, not one that many people knew. It definitely wasn't one of the songs on the playlist for Angel's epic end-of-the-year pool party (to which I was never invited). "Life" was written the thirties, and was in one of Mom's favorite movies of all time. She'd never gotten the chance to tell me what that movie was, but she'd tacked that verse of the song up on the wall of the café, until Jeb decided it was ugly and ripped it down.

Something buzzed in my pocket, sending jolts down my thigh. I was instantly reminded of my unanswered message from Fang.

It was still there as I flipped my phone open: _Fang27: Maximum? What are you going as, again?_

My fingers blurred together as I typed back my own reply.

_MaximumRide: Cinderella! Look out for Cinderella tonight, Fang._

Fang's reply was as quick as lighting, and I felt guilty for neglecting him today. Although, Fang probably has a cool phone, not one with number/letter keys that make it impossible to write a text message in under three minutes.

_Fang27: Perfect. Let's meet...in the middle of the dance floor._

I stared at my screen. Was he crazy? Clinically insane? Joking?

_MaximumRide: The middle of the dance floor? Do you _like_ getting trampled?_

_Fang27: We won't get trampled. And I'll be waiting._

And just like that, he signed off.

_You can't just do that! What kind of a person does that? And where does that leave me?_

Well, if I had to make a list, I guess it would mean that:

- Fang knew how to conveniently leave me in a position I couldn't get out of

- I'd be trying my chances at dancing tonight.

* * *

**ANGEL ANGEL ANGEL ANGEL ANGEL ANGEL ANGEL ANGEL ANGEL ANGEL ANGEL ANGEL **

The memory of her breakup with Nick weighed less heavily on her heart that afternoon. With time, the burden would lighten, and when she got Nick back, it would be nothing but a bad memory. At the Winter Ball, when she and he were crowned Ice Prince and Princess, she wouldn't remember it at all.

It was in this frame of mind that Angel spent the entire afternoon being polished and primped.

"Liss! Come see this."

Angel waved Lissa over from her swiveling chair where she was getting her hair done and her hands manicured. Being unable to budge, Lissa jerked her chin towards her stylist and manicurist and rolled her eyes.

_They're sooooo annoying_.

Angel couldn't agree more. Emmanuella and Jade probably meant well, but did they really have to tug at everything? Her scalp felt like it was on fire. She took a sip of her salted caramel frappé from Java's, the new Starbucks of Stream Valley High. Angel liked it ten time better.

"B, that costume you designed was absolutely gorgeous," she said, turning to her right, where Brigid was getting her hair styled. Brigid's obsession with designing clothes had once again come to the rescue.

"You think?" Brigid asked, smiling. She twirled her chair around, causing her stylist to huff in exasperation. "It's 'cause I'm _fabulous_!" she sang.

Lissa snorted. "You mean like when you took us to the wrong salon?"

Brigid made a face. "Hey, that was an accident. You make more mistakes than I do! Remember Ramón?"

All three girls turned towards each other. "It's so _boootiful_," they all chimed together, before collapsing into giggles.

Inside jokes were the best.

Lissa shrugged. "Hey, at least he was cute. Foreign exchange students are always hot."

"Other people are hot too," Brigid said randomly. "Like Nick. Oh my gosh, I like me some abs, and that boy got some."

She and Lissa snickered.

Angel remained silent.

"Hey," Lissa said gently to her, "It's okay. He didn't really break up with you, right? He's going to love you _so_ much tonight."

"Liss, he _did_ break up with her. You're so stupid." The ever-blunt Brigid shook her head. "But it's okay. He's going to be sooooo jealous when he sees her in _my_ fabulous costume. I'm _never_ wrong," she concluded matter-of-factly.

"What about that other salon, then?" Lissa prompted.

Brigid rolled her eyes. "Fine, I was wrong _once_."

"Then what about—"

"It's okay," Angel cut in, rolling her eyes. "I already have a Genius Master Plan."

"Oh?" Brigid arched a perfect auburn eyebrow. "Do tell."

"But I can't," Angel said, widening her blue eyes innocently. "It's—"

"A _seeeeecret_," they all said together. Lissa laughed.

Angel was so good at this. She found it ironic, considering that she had once yearned to be their friend, that they were so anxious to express something that proved their friendship. All she needed to do was bring up something else, and the girls were instantly distracted, all over the new subject. All she had to do was bring up an inside joke, something that cemented their friendship, and Lissa and Brigid were as good as putty in her hands. She considered the power of manipulation a talent, and talents needed practice and honing. And her talent of manipulation was a finely tuned, exquisitely honed tool and source of power. It had been her ticket to popularity, to her two amazing best friends, and to Nick.

And it kind of sickened her, how easy it was to push them around without them ever knowing.

Of course, she was much less kind to the people not on the popularity chart. She had no reason to manipulate them. She was still going through what most knew as "initiation," even thought it had been a good two years since she had entered the popularity circle. "Initiation" was a rite that every girl who the populars wanted in their group had to go through before becoming popular. Two or three populars who had already gone through "initiation", or Brigid and Lissa in Angel's case, composed a list of girls to be picked on for a month. The next month, a new list was made, and the girl going through "initiation" had to be doubly nice to the girls on last month's list. If the girl went through a whole year without getting reported or suspected for bullying, she was a popular. If not, well, she had to start over again. Angel had been suspected once, called in to Principal Pruitt's office for bullying Paulina Caravel. She had lied blatantly to the prinipal's face, and he hadn't suspected a thing after that. Still, she'd had to start over. Of course, Angel been an exception to the rule. Before even completing half of her first year of "initiation," she'd already cemented her spot as a high-ranking popular. It hadn't taken much longer for everyone else to consider her the school's queen bee, shoving Maya Anderson out of her top spot and claiming it for herself instead. The rest of the girls had become less involved in her "initiation" until only Brigid and Lissa remembered that Angel was technically still supposed to be in a "recruit" spot.

Only the popular girls knew about popularity initiation. They'd made very sure of that. Each popular, whether she was high-ranking or low, was allowed to request one recruit every two months. Every time a new recruit was initiated, another girl was downgraded to a lower popularity position and the new girl took her place, to keep things even. Anyways, by that time, one girl or another had started to get kind of annoying, and downgrading was never a problem. Every once in a while, they kicked someone out, either because she was getting too annoying or threatening to their well-being as populars, or because the number of popular girls allowed in the circle had reached its The system was smooth and efficient. Most recruits were surprised at how organized everything was in the business of high school popularity, and Angel was proud at how smoothly she, as top girl, kept everything running. After a girl's initiation, she could stop being mean to those on the popularity chart. However, most girls continued the practice, just for the fun of it. Angel found it a little bit disgusting.

Of course, she had her own personal punching bag too. Almost all of the populars had one. Maxine Batchelder was hers.

She remembered how they'd used to be friends, how they'd used to pair up in class and link arms at recess, flirt with boys after school and style each other's almost identical hair. They'd been mistaken more than once for twins, while they played basketball or browsed through stores at Stream Valley's mall. Maxine had always been the prettier one, and Angel had always resented her. But then, she'd clicked with Brigid and Lissa, and she'd felt just as pretty as Maxine. But after Angel had found new friends, Maxine had dropped her like she was a burning coal. It had hurt, and it stung a little now, too. But she'd made sure Maxine had never forgotten that ever since she had broken ties with Angel, Angel had moved on to bigger and better friends. And on to Nick.

Nick. Angel's heart seemed less heavy than that morning, now that she had a plan for getting Nick back. Angel's plans never failed. Ever. It was as if she had a special power, as if she was able to slip into people's minds and change their thoughts, mold ideas and manipulate them with an expert hand. She was so, so good at it.

"Speaking of Nick," Lissa said, "Guess who I saw today?"

_That's not a very good way of trying to get people to guess things,_ Angel thought. _You just said the answer._

"Uh, Nick?" Brigid asked, evidently thinking the same thing.

"And Tess," Lissa added.

"Tess?" Angel said carefully, trying not to show how curious she was and maintaining an unruffled appearance that didn't hint to what point this annoyed her.

"Yeah, Tess." Lissa said, inspecting her newly finished nails. "They were having coffee together."

Angel suddenly hated Tess.

"What?" Brigid asked, laughing. "Someone's on the rebound."  
Angel couldn't even express how much this bothered her.

"I know, right?" Lissa went on. "That was my reaction too, at first. But then I realized she was wearing, like, the most _hideous_ sweater ever, and I was like, why would she wear something that horrible if she were trying to hook up with Nick?"_  
_"Right," Brigid said, looking relieved for some reason.

"Yeah. And then Nick was like, _uh, I gotta go help my mom_. So I was like, oh, so they don't really like each other. Still, isn't that funny?"

Angel suddenly thought Tess was the nicest person in the world.

"I like Tess," she declared.

"Yeah," Brigid agreed. "She's cute. I wish I had lips like hers."  
"Totally," Lissa chimed in. "Hey, we should so hook her up with a modeling gig. We'd get famous through her."  
"Yeah," Brigid said, warming up to the idea. "She totally has the eyes."

"Hey, Lissa," Angel said on a whim. "Upgrade Tess from a "okay" to a "cute and popular," okay?" Suddenly Tess was seeming awesome. Awesome enough to skip to popularity categories and go straight to the second best spot of "cute and popular".

"You mean she's going to be hanging with us all the time now?" Lissa frowned.

"No," Brigid said patiently. "That would make her a "BFF". How many times to I have to explain the popularity chart to you, Liss?" Brigid rolled her eyes. "It means that we're going to, like, pass her notes in class sometimes and invite her to more parties and stick cute stickies and post-its on her locker for her birthday."

"Oh yeah," Lissa said. "And, like, take her to Java's on Fridays. I get it. " She nodded.

"I'm on it, Ange," Brigid said, whipping out her phone. Then she frowned. "The only problem is, there's no more openings in the "cute and populars." We're going to have to downgrade someone."

"Andi," Lissa said immediately.

"Andi? Why Andi? Andi's cute," Angel said, confused.

"Dude, I, like, totally saw her ogling at Dylan's butt the other day," Lissa explained. "Gross, right?"

"Dylan?" Brigid shrieked. "Dylan Batchelder? Ew. Downgrade. Now."

"Aw," Angel complained. "At least don't put her all the way down in "okay". Are there any openings in "cool"?"

"Yeah, one." Brigid looked up, confused. "Why do you like her so much?"

It wasn't that she particularly liked Andi above any other "cute and populars". It was just that she'd seen Andi struggle and fight for her place in the clique, and Angel didn't want to throw away all of her hard work. Brigid and Lissa were always surprised when she was lenient on downgrading people, but they didn't seem to remember that less than three years ago, Angel had been the unpopular one. She never liked completely throwing anyone off the popularity chart, or downgrading a high-ranking popular to the lowest spot. She knew what it felt like to be unpopular.

"Just…she has connections at Prada," Angel invented.

"She does?" Lissa shrieked. "Stick her in that "cool" spot, B. I need me a new Prada bag."

"Okay, okay," Brigid relented.

For the next few minutes, all Angel could hear was the clicking of Brigid's nails against her keyboard.

"Ange?" Brigid asked, almost shyly.

"Yeah?"

"If you and Nick don't get back together, does that put him on the market?" Brigid hesitated, ducking under a long curl of auburn hair and peeking out to see if Angel had burst into angry flames.

"We _will_ get back together," Angel announced. What kind of a question was that? Nick was all hers. Only hers.

"You're done," Jade announced to Angel, swiveling her chair around so she could see her reflection.

She had never ceased to marvel how expertly Jade managed to curl her hair, setting it in flow past her shoulders in gold curls, snowy white streaks temporarily dyed in them. Emmanuella had somehow made her eyes look huge. She was almost hypnotized by her own reflection.

Oh, yes. Stage One of Angel's Genius Master Plan was in motion.

Nick didn't stand a chance.

* * *

**FANG FANG FANG FANG FANG FANG FANG FANG FANG FANG FANG FANG**

_Cinderella._

Music pulsed around Nick, and bodies writhed beside him. Someone had probably spiked one of the bowls of punch, because a mousy-looking girl in a Green Lantern costume next to him swayed and spilled some of the red stuff in her cup. His feet were planted directly under the large disco ball placed right above the middle of the dance floor. The strobe lights glinted off the small gold crown amidst his black locks, and being tall gave him the advantage of a perfect view of whoever came down the stairs of the giant room.

He was supposed to be looking for a Cinderella. So far he'd seen a few Batwomen, WonderWomen, girls in leotards whose costumes were impossible to understand, one girl who looked like a giant Starburst, but no Cinderella. He felt like screaming. The dance had started fifteen minutes ago.

He'd never been one to let someone else take all the blame. It was both of their faults that he had no idea who he was supposed to be finding. But Nick was perfectly fine with admitting that it was more Maximum's fault than his. He'd wanted to know what she was planning on coming as before choosing his own costume, but after his watch had hit the three-hour mark, he'd decided that he needed to find a costume, _fast_—no one without one was allowed at the dance—and had soon realized that almost all the stores were empty, jam-packed, or robbed of their decent costumes. Finding his own costume had been nearly impossible. He never wanted to have to find a costume ever again. It had been one of the most awkward experiences of his life.

Nick did _not _like his mom's inner teenager.

He could only thank the stars that her 'Genius Master Plan" had turned out to be a prince costume, complete with a small crown, which was definitely better than his backup plan of going as a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Which only would have worked if his five-year old costume still fit him.

_Oh well_, he thought as his foot tapped to floor impatiently of its own accord. _At least I know that if she's trying to find a costume three hours before Homecoming, she's not Angel. Or any girl who I've heard talking about the dance for the past eight weeks._ It was a reassuring thought, and he smiled.

But then he glanced at his watch again and he was annoyed all over again. The dance had now been going on for twenty minutes, and Green Lantern Girl was starting to worry him. She kept rubbing up against him and lowering her cute, chunky glasses down the narrow bridge of her nose. Nick took a step back as she flipped her short, dull blond hair and batted her long eyelashes, trailing a small, graceful finger down his neck. The party's lights shone on eyes that seemed too beautiful for her plain face, big and green and sparkling with apparent drunkenness. A bit of her punch spilled out of her cup, staining a patch of green fabric on her knee.

Please _hurry up, Maximum_, thought Nick anxiously as he watched Green Lantern Girl take the meaning of "punch-drunk" to a whole new level. If she was trying to be fashionably late or whatever, he might as well give up. He craned his neck so Green Lantern Girl wasn't obstructing his view of the stairs.

A blond figure, clad in white, emerged from the shadows at the top of the stairs. She moved slowly, her dress training behind her. Nick saw a flash of something sparkly in her hair and his heart started pounding wildly, beating…

_To the beat of the drums?_ Ke$ha suggested.

_NO_, Nick thought as two girls beside him belted out the lyrics to the song.

As the figure progressed down the steps, the light made it clearer that her train was only in the back of her costume, and that the front of her costume was composed of shorts so short Nick might have mistaken them for a belt, had he not known that the dress code stipulated wearing pants. The flash of sparkle in her hair was revealed to be a halo, and she was sporting two large white wings.

The glimmer of hope Nick had begun to feel died out as her face became distinct in the flashing lights. It was Angel. He sighed, noticing for the first time that she was flanked on either side by two devils, both with varying shades of red hair. Brigid and Lissa. Lissa's hair was braided down the side in some sort of five-strand plait that was extremely distracting and drew attention to her pretty face, and Brigid's was pinned to form a crown that made her head look like it was on fire. The whole effect was a little dizzying. Nick looked away, because the last thing he wanted to do was get caught staring at Brigid's beautiful blue eyes. Or Lissa's green ones. Or at Angel. Those electric blue eyes had been the reason he had loved her in the first place, and he didn't want to get ensnared again.

It occurred to him that Maximum might already be in the middle of the dance floor, and he almost smacked himself for being such an idiot. Of course she could be already at the dance.

"Nick?"

He whirled around. Standing behind him was Tess.

Yes, of course Maximum could already be at the dance.

"Hi," he said, a smile making its way onto his face for no reason.

"Hi," she said back, her cheeks red and her eyes bright from dancing. Her eyelids and cheekbones painted to form a golden mask, and her long brown hair braided in some sort of intricate style that must have taken ages.

"Dance with me!" she said, taking his hands and jumping around wildly. Nick twirled her around hesitantly, wondering if she too were buzzed, and she laughed.

"So, you're Fang?" she said happily, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Or at least that was what he thought she had said. It was hard to hear with all the music.

"What did you say?" Nick's heart pounded wildly, trying to thump its way out of his ribcage.

"I said, don't you love this dance?" Tess cupped her hands around her mouth to shout over the music.

"Oh." Nick heartbeat stopped abruptly, then went back to a steady rhythm. "Oh. Yeah." He noticed for the first time that she was wearing: a baby blue dress with a belt of gold pearls.

Not Cinderella.

Suddenly Nick felt like he couldn't breathe.

"Be right back, he said to Tess, letting go of her hands and backing away from the center of the dance floor.

"O-Okay," she said, confused.

He turned and almost immediately bumped into Angel.

"Hi," she said, her eyes shy. She looked down, as if she wasn't really sure how to act around him.

Nick didn't think he had ever noticed how sweet her voice was.

"Hi," he said back. She was looking anywhere but at him, and he suddenly thought how nice it would be to see her eyes.

He was feeling really guilty. He didn't want her to have to feel awkward or sad around him. He took her hands in his.

"Are you having fun?" He asked sincerely.

"Well," she hesitated. "I am now." Her smile was so open, so genuine, that Nick could feel his eyes softening. Sometimes he wondered if those blue, blue eyes knew hypnosis.

She gave him a hug, and he stiffened. Instead of planting a kiss in her hair the way he normally did, he patted her back. It was his way of reminding her that they were just friends.

Maybe she got the message, maybe she didn't. But she smiled and squeezed his hands.

"Have fun."

She left, and he saw her joining up with Brigid and Lissa, who looked eager for some reason, leaving him dumbfounded and feeling kind of sleepy all of a sudden.

He shook his head. Every time he was around, he felt like his head was getting muddled, like his thoughts were being messed with. It was kind of unsettling.

Lost in thought, he almost ran into two guys with mustaches. They looked like they were about to spear him. He doubted that the advantage of height would serve him much against two angry guys with swords.

"Hey, dude!" Gazzy's voice rang out and he fist-bumped Nick.

Nick breathed out, remembering that Gazzy and Sam were going as the Three Musketeers. He felt a pang of guilt as he also remembered that he was supposed to be going with them as the third Musketeer.

Evidently, Gazzy had remembered too. "Whoa, what are you wearing?"  
"He's…" Sam cut in, inspecting Nick. "Prince Charming! Dude, we were supposed to look cool together!" Sam smacked his forehead exasperatedly. "Now the Gasman and I look stupid. It doesn't work with only two Musketeers!"

"Yeah," Gazzy complained, "Now you get to be a prince, and we're just two weirdos with 'staches."

"Sorry," Nick said, starting not to feel particularly sorry.

"Whoa," Sam said, wide-eyed, all other thoughts forgotten. "Do you think a weirdo with a 'stache would be able to get with _that_ girl?"

Gazzy whistled. "'I don't know about you, dude, but _this_ weirdo with a 'stache definitely would like to."

Nick turned to where they were both staring, bracing himself for another of Sam's usual selection of girls: a large-breasted airhead with little clothing. But he couldn't have been more wrong.

Slowly making her way down, not particularly gracefully or purposeful, was another blond girl, holding on the railing for dear life and almost tripping over her feet. She finally regained composure and descended the rest of the steps in a leisurely glide. It wasn't her long mane of light golden hair that Nick noticed, unlike Holden Starfish, who stared at her like a beacon, or her shapely figure in her dress, unlike Ratchet McDavid, who looked like he was about to drop down and worship her. It was the glittering tiara _in _her hair. Her dress itself, unmistakably a princess dress. Her delicate mask. Her face became clearer as she stumbled her way down the carpeted stairs, finally regaining balance and starting a more poised glide.

Maximum Ride.

Nick's heart beat to the beat of the drums.

* * *

**SOOOOO?**

**I hated Tess at the beginning of this chapter. I'd actually made her a lovable, cute character. I cursed myself, then said it was too good to take out.**

**Then I realized she hadn't really done anything in the books except say, "You're tall" to Iggy.**

**What did you guys think of the little anecdote on the popularity system? Huh?**

**Did you like the various POV's? The story? The changes I made in previous chapters?**

**Tell me in a review!**

**I made my sister read this ****before I edited previous chapters, and at the end, she remarked, "Don't you think Fang is kind of a douchebag in this story?"**

**And then I was like, "YES" and I edited the whole thing. **

**And I found out this week that my oldest brother is getting married. I'm so happy I could jump high enough to see the tips of Max's wings.**

**Also, I've been heartbroken about the bombings, so go pray for Boston, okay?**

**Have a nice day! :3**

**And above all: REVIEW.**

**Love you all, and until next time!**

**BAIE!**

**~Ami****


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